


They Met Seven Years Ago.

by Miku



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dom/sub, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Public Sex, Rape Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miku/pseuds/Miku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- A Cheater AU -</p><p>They met seven years ago.</p><p>Arthur had been a fresh nineteen year old for fifteen days before quite literally bumping into Eames who -he soon after found out to be- was his sister's fiancé.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Met Seven Years Ago.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS for strong language and dubious consent.  
> Also a lot, A LOT, of cheating and selfishness going on in this one.
> 
> I mean no disrespect to anyone having been a victim of rape nor anyone having been cheated on etc.
> 
>  

****

**PROLOGUE**

 

_They met seven years ago._

 

Arthur had been a fresh nineteen year old for fifteen days before quite literally bumping into Eames who -he soon after found out to be- was his sister's fiancé.

 

To this day he still found this man to have been his let-down in love. It took him seven years to realize that what he'd had with Eames was based upon betrayal and nonetheless those lost years had been the most lived ones in his life.

 

The most _loved_ ones.

  
Eames had taken more than half a decade from his existence, rumpled it into a little tight ball and had tossed it in a trashcan, leaving it for years before it had finally unfolded and fluttered back out to pick up its lifeline.

 

But still creased beyond repair.

 

Eames had ruined him, and though it sounded awful, Arthur fucking loved him for it.

* * *

 

_7 years earlier._

 

“Arthur, I'm so glad you came!” The boy being spoken to curled up his nose when two skinny -yet remarkably strong- arms wrapped around him.

 

“Didn't have much of a choice. Mother would've killed me.” He grumbled into a bony shoulder, smothered not only by the frilly sleeve but more so his sister's obnoxiously heavy perfume.

 

“You're such a pessimist, Artie.” She rolled her blue eyes, releasing her younger brother from the death-grip.

 

“Realist.” He corrected her as they made their way inside the fancy building. Arthur decided to let the pet-name slip because well, they hadn't seen each other in about three years.  
Their parents being divorced and living opposite sides in the States didn't much allow them to have weekly visits. And that went without mentioning the shit-relationship he had with his father who luckily enough raised his sister. And she herself did not much get along with their mother with whom Arthur housed.

 

“What's up with renting a whole hall for a family dinner party?” Arthur suspiciously questioned, cocking an eyebrow at his older sister who unlike him sprouted lovely blond hair and possessed naturally bronze-toned skin.

 

“We normally do this at someone's place.” He added and his sister nodded with a secretive smile only meant for him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention and possibly-needed hostility.

 

“I've got something important to share so I wanted everyone to be here, including Eames' family.”

 

Arthur knew she'd been dating this wealthy British guy named Eames for the past two years but had yet to see him in real life or even in pictures. Knowing his sister he'd look like- and act like a douche-bag.

 

“What? You pregnant or somethin'?” He questioned, his heart leaping in his chest at the thought of his twenty-two year old sibling already with child, future fucked most certainly as she was the most unstable and impulsive person he'd ever known.

 

Arthur would be a better mother than her, and Arthur preferred to lock himself in his room whenever his younger nephews and nieces came to visit... no matter how long.  
He'd camp a week out in the wilderness or the fuckin' eye of a hurricane in order to avoid contact with snotty, moody kids.

 

“Arthur, Jesus, ain't fuckin' up this young body just quite yet.” She cursed, smoothing down her skirt and drawing attention to her (to standards) perfectly shaped body.

 

“Watch your mouth. Father will start a riot if he hears.”

 

“Most likely.” She agreed, nodding and rolling her eyes as they turned a corner.

 

“Besides, I thought your boyfriend was British or something? What's his family doing over here?”

 

His sister pinched his nose whilst tutting her lips, scolding his curiosity.

 

“Most of his family moved to the States about a decade ago. He bought airplane tickets for the remaining members in England.” There was a bragging tone to her voice, a sound Arthur knew all too well for he himself carried the spoiled-brat-gene.

 

“ _He bought airplane tickets._ ” He mimicked in a high-pitched voice and with a snarl on his face. She snorted, flicking his ear before their bickering fell silent as they entered the main dining-hall.

 

There were already a lot of family members pacing around, chatting and drinking aperitifs. Some of them were new to Arthur's eye and most likely members of Eames' family.

 

“I'm gonna take a piss.” Arthur grumbled under his breath, watching a _posh_ -looking elder couple making way towards them, raising glasses at his sister and smiling.

 

“You're gonna run is what you mean.” She sweetly threw back, smiling at the people coming their way though her ice-blue eyes glanced at him with venom for a split second.  
Arthur shrugged, not bothering to deny it and quickly turned on the back of his heels to escape into the hallway.

 

Once in privacy and in search of a toilet, Arthur tugged at the suffocating tie around his neck, rolling shoulders against the constricting tightness of his tailored jacket. He despised suits, he was too young for suits, he didn't _suit_ suits, not with the massive black explosion of curls on his head, framing his too-pale-of-a face.

 

The glossy wingtips clacked as they made way over cream-veined marble tiles in which he could see contours of his reflection when looking down.

 

Looking down was not something he should've done, not with pacing like a maniac through an unfamiliar building's maze of hallways.

 

The impact was hard, nearly similar to walking face first into a brick wall. But -though close to the hard- and firmness of a wall- it wasn't an unfortunate placed inanimate object at all.

 

“Shit, fuck, sorry.” Arthur cursed, feeling awkward for having run into someone when turning another corner just that bit too quickly and recklessly.  
Well... he was quite sure he felt more awkward about the fact that he'd fallen flat on his ass on the floor, the silk of his dress-pants had even made him slide a couple of inches away from his 'victim of impact'.

But admitting how ridiculous it must've looked for the other, would only cause the boy to blush profoundly and he really didn't want that.

 

“You alright there, kid?”

 

… _Now_ , there were three things Arthur hated.

He despised when people would come over, go through his collection of books and/or films and mess up their alphabetical-inside-genre arrangement.  
Then, he wasn't at all appreciative about the fact that at the age of nineteen he still lacked about 90% of testosterone-fueled body-hair (though the adolescent cruelty to screw him over with ill-timed erections didn't lack in the slightest).

 

And then there was being called pet-names.

In particular; **kid**.  
_Child_ and ( _little) boy_ being close seconds.

 

Bonus points to the man for carrying the English accent that Arthur so lovingly detested.

 

He didn't need to see the solid-built, condescending-name-caller in order to prejudice him into an eternity of teenage wrath.

In retrospect; he shouldn't have seen him at all.

 

But there he stood.

 

All wicked charm and obnoxious grins. Arthur knew right there and then that this was _the_ Eames.  
This was the douche-bag boyfriend of his sister, toned skin, gray eyes and bulk included.

 

“I'm fine.” He bit, scowling and slapping away the outstretched hand. Absently he did note the manicured nails and it only fueled the prejudice.

 

“Touchy boy, aren't ya.” He remarked, pulling amused features over the sarcastic expression before he outright stretched a leg over Arthur's and semi-walked over and past him to continue on his way to fuck-knows where.

 

Arthur watched over his shoulder how the man disappeared behind a corner and only then huffed, loudly.

 

“Ass.”

* * *

 

 

It took Arthur well over twenty minutes before returning to the main dining-hall.

 

In his defense, he'd been distracted by the medicinal stench of the toilet and then when having seen the tiny window higher up in the wall, he couldn't deny himself a well-earned cigarette.  
Blowing out smoke through the tiny gap of the opened window had felt childishly satisfying. He could've walked out the back-door, smoke on the street, whatever... but fuck he was Arthur and he was the perfect son and if he wanted to smoke he would smoke like a sketchy, little brat in a cubicle.

 

By the time he got back in the dinner-hall, everyone was already seated at the long table. There were at least forty people present and Arthur grudgingly paced around the table in search of a free spot.  
Thankfully enough everyone was distracted from his awkwardness with gossip, voices and laughter loudly ringing in the boy's ears.

 

“Arthur! Over here!” He looked over his shoulder, witnessing an embarrassingly excited flail-of-limb from his sister.  
With his attention focused on the empty chair she pointed at, he noticed Eames' presence too late to differentiate the direction he was walking.

 

He cursed under his breath when sitting down on the uncomfortably-hard chair to Eames' right, his sister seated to the douche-bag's left.

 

“I see potty-mouths run in the family, yea?” Eames asked his sister, loud enough for Arthur to hear. She laughed and Arthur cringed as he watched her squeeze the guy's bicep before booping her nose onto his shoulder.

 

“Just me and my little brother.”

 

“I'm taller than you, Rebecca.” Arthur scolded, leaning forwards so he could look past Eames. He met his sister's glare around the corner of the man's chest and had to hold himself back from grabbing her when she stuck out her tongue.

 

“He's younger?” Eames asked curiously, looking Arthur over, making him cringe.

 

“A lot younger. He's a righteous, horny teenager is what he is.” Arthur regretted taking a sip from his glass of water because he choked on it by his sister's remark.  
Eames though was pleasantly amused and his laughter rumbled so deeply that it seemed to crawl up Arthur's spine to his neck and prickle the hairs on his head.

 

All of that wasn't enough distraction for the inevitable sibling vengeance and Rebecca squawked when Arthur threw back the 'bed-wetting at age of ten' story.

 

They continued to bicker for at least a minute before their mother walked past and swatted them both on the head without saying a word.

 

Appetizers and dinner went smoothly enough. Arthur succeeded in ignoring Eames' obnoxious voice simply because it remained directed to his sister.  
By dessert though, the teenager started to get annoyed by the lack of attention he received from Rebecca as well as her stupid boyfriend and their parents across of them.  
Instead of picking up a conversation with someone though, he just glared at his slice of strawberry cheesecake and disappeared into his own little world.

 

After dessert he noticed the whispering between his sibling and her lover and watched as they both rose from their seats. Eames clinked his glass with a spoon, getting everyone's attention.

 

Arthur wasn't much impressed hearing that they were engaged and would be marrying by the end of the year, but then... this was back in the day Arthur had no idea what Eames would come to mean 

* * *

 

 

Arthur didn't see Eames after the dinner-party until the actual marriage, six months later.

He'd thought about him if being honest. Not that much really. Just for a couple of days after the announcement-dinner and then on and off for the following two months before he forgot about him until someone would mention _Rebecca's fiancé_.

 

Granted, Arthur wasn't at all in denial of his homosexuality, even though still in the closet. And Eames, well, even though he was six years older, was easy on the eye.

He was a proper man, completely opposite to the pimpled and lanky-limbed boys at Arthur's school. He wouldn't have been able to stop the sexual fantasies about him even if he'd tried... and he did try because Eames not only was an asshole of a jock, but as well his sister's soon to be husband.

 

The marriage itself was boring and Arthur experienced an odd void of emotion as he watched Rebecca and Eames seal the bond with a kiss, people cheering all around him and them.

She looked happy. Beaming in her white dress, perfect teeth bared in a broad smile that matched Eames' slightly crooked-toothed one as well as the pearls around her neck.

 

It wasn't until many hours later, around ten in the evening, that -so to say- shit hit the fence for the first time in what would become a seven year long shit-storm.  
Excuse his teenage-adapted language (which even well after adolescence remains worthy for sailors).

 

Arthur was drunk. Very much so and had retreated into the toilet-hall, cubicles on the right, sinks and mirrors on the left.  
A girl from Eames' part of the family had shown disturbing interest in Arthur and after her fifth attempt to drag him onto the dance-floor, Arthur had had enough of it and barely managed to not sprint away from her when he turned to leave.

He swore he'd hang himself with his own tongue if he had to hear any more London-dialects today.

 

Leaning heavily onto a sink, Arthur looked into the mirror, observing his face. He looked a bit pale, which was normal for him, but the half-lidded eyes told him he'd had at least four glasses of wine too many.

 

A toilet flushed somewhere to the right behind him and he didn't bother eying whomever was exiting the cubicle in order to wash their hands.  
Arthur dipped his head, running the faucet almost simultaneously with the other person to his right and then splashed some water in his face.

 

“You're proper legless, aren't ya.”

 

Arthur jerked up, which made his head dizzy and throb. He didn't need to look to know who it was but he still glared at Eames through the reflection of the mirror. The man was leaning his hip against the sink next to Arthur's, facing him with his arms crossed and an observant look on his face.

 

“Excuse me?” He muttered, wanting to stand upright and gain some height to the towering man, but instead just grabbing the sink more tightly, shoulders hunched.

 

“Legless.” He repeated and when Arthur didn't reply he snickered.

 

“Brahms, laggered, pissed.”

 

“Do you mean _drunk_?” Arthur threw back, a pitiful smirk on his own lips as he looked away from Eames and stared into the sink.

 

“Shit-faced more like it but yeah, whatever goes for you.” His voice was softer and Arthur got fidgety when Eames didn't leave at all. In contrary he seemed to only sag more comfortably against the sink, ankles crossed.

 

“Can I help you or?” Arthur asked with an annoyed lilt to his voice. He was too drunk for this shit but not enough to not see the man's grin widen as he looked in the mirror and witnessed Eames watching him directly rather than through reflection.

 

“I don't know, can you?”

 

“You sound like my fucking math-teacher when I ask if I can go take a piss.”

 

“Sounds like he takes the piss, inhe?” Eames questioned and Arthur wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or not but he didn't understand the humor-intended comment at all.

 

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Arthur grumbled instead, rising from his slumped position and getting ready to leave the bathroom because Eames obviously wasn't going to leave him alone.

 

“You're American, Darling. Can't help it can ya?” Eames smiled and Arthur glared.

 

“If you Darling me one more time I will roundhouse kick you in the nuts with the foot of freedom.”

 

Eames repeated the last four words without a sound and a grin on his face. Granted, that wasn't the best he'd come up with so far, but he was drunk as hell and he wouldn't accept this 'bloody' Brit to insult his nationality in his own country.

 

“My, my Arthur. You're as feisty as your sister.” Eames spoke oddly slow and Arthur was too late to note that his words matched his pace and before he knew it Eames had caged him against a sink.

 

He lost the ability to speak, anger and intoxication making it hard to decide what to say.  
Eames towered over him though he barely got an inch on the teenager's length and with his hands on the sink, arms on either side of him, it was difficult to not get distracted by the close proximity and the body-heat.

 

“Wh-what are you doing?” Arthur whispered, eyes widening as he watched Eames lean in closer, gray eyes focused on Arthur's lips.

 

Eames just smiled wider and just when Arthur wanted to duck or punch the man, Eames pulled back and away, a towel in his hands.

 

“You were standing in front of the towels.” The man spoke matter-of-factly, drying his hands before tossing the white fabric towards Arthur who was too drunk to react and ended up staring at the towel at his feet.

 

By the time he looked up, Eames was gone.

* * *

 

 

After the bathroom incident, Arthur had went straight home. Luckily enough the building had only been half an hour walk distance from his home.

 

He didn't see Eames again until two months later when Rebecca invited him and mom to come visit their place in New York (the city in which they as well lived). The distance in between was about a fifteen minute walk which was unsettling because Arthur couldn't imagine the obligations for having to visit her far more often now.

 

Arthur loved Rebecca. He cared for her and before their parents had divorced they'd been as close to one another as siblings can be, daily fights included.  
They couldn't live with, nor without each other and it was only now that Arthur realized how much he'd missed her in the past.

 

It was Eames who opened the door as he and his mother stood at the entrance of Rebecca and Eames' new place.

 

“Miss Rachael! Such a pleasure.” Eames outed, swinging an arm around Arthur's mom and kissing her on the cheek.

 

“Oh Eames, please.” She outright giggled and Arthur pulled a face at how his mother so easily got charmed by the obnoxious Brit.

Eames turned to him afterwards, his arm sliding from Rachael's waist and instead wrapping it around Arthur's shoulder and pulling him in a loose embrace.

 

“Arthur, how you been, mate?” Eames joyfully asked but Arthur saw no need in replying the forced small-talk.

 

When Eames pulled back though, as quickly as he'd thrown his arm around him and pressed him loosely against his chest, his nose bumped against the shell of Arthur's ear.

And then he sniffed.

 

Arthur's blood went cold and he blinked a couple of times, noticing Eames was already leading his mother inside the house and for a second he questioned whether or not he'd imagined the man having outright scented him like a fucking dog.

 

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, but nonetheless he discarded the happening, brushing it off as imaginary, and followed them both.

 

Luckily enough Rebecca awaited them inside, hugging Arthur more warmly than she did her mother before leading them through the house, showing them around.  
  
Their home was nice but not as cozy as the house he occupied with his mother. It was mostly modern with here and there some odd and bright-colored or loud-printed stuff most likely infiltrated by Eames (judging by his horrible tie-choices and unconditional love for paisley socks Arthur had seen peeking from beneath a pants-leg when he'd cross his legs).

 

Once the tour had been over with, Rebecca invited them into the kitchen/dining-room where she was busy cooking a small meal for the four of them.  
Arthur and Rachael sat down at the table, facing the kitchen counter.

 

The boy watched Eames with narrowed eyes. He didn't like this man. He didn't like how his hand rested on the small of Rebecca's back almost continuously, he didn't like how he whispered words in her ear with a shit-eating grin on his features, making her giggle and push him away gently before he'd crowd back in.

 

This man had a fucking problem with grasping the understanding of personal-space. Even if Rebecca was his wife, Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that this man was possessive and too fucking dominant for anyone's good.

 

“So Eames, gotten used to life in New York yet?” Rachael asked and Arthur lowered his eyes in order to not have Eames catch him staring.

 

“Oh definitely. Lovely lot; them Yorkers.” Rebecca snorted at his words but other than that stayed focused on her dinner, stirring pots, back turned to the table behind her.

 

Arthur peeked up, watching Eames slouched against the counter, his left hand holding some nuts or seeds which he one by one popped into his mouth. There was a permanent smirk curled on his full lips and Arthur was mid-scowling when he glanced up through his lashes to look at him.

 

The boy held his eye, though. And Eames, well, he just grinned his teeth bare before bumping a shoulder into Rebecca next to him, murmuring something to her as he cast his gaze on the pots on the stove.

 

“Five more minutes, Eames. Gosh.” Rebecca huffed irritatedly and Arthur looked sideways to his mom. She rose her eyebrows at him and Arthur just grimaced an unspoken reply.  
Apparently his mother was feeling as awkward as Arthur did, but most likely her judgment was cast upon her daughter rather than douche-bag-paisley-socks.

 

Dinner itself would've been more awkward had Eames not been a blabbermouth. The man and Rachael were the only one who kept conversation flowing. Arthur wasn't talkative, even with family, and especially not when experiencing such eerie emotions in the presence of this man.  
Rebecca had quite some issues with their mother and thus she kept to herself as well, though she did laugh at Eames' jokes and would throw him sly, infatuated glanced every now and then.

 

She was head over heels for Eames.

 

There weren't any more awkward moments between Arthur and Eames. The Brit ignored him beautifully, which wasn't hard because Arthur didn't say a word except for an occasional 'yes' or 'no' when his mom tried to drag him into conversation.

 

When they left, everything went smoothly as well. Rebecca hugged him and even the embrace with Rachael seemed a bit more genuine than before.  
Eames kissed Rachael on both cheeks which made her smile and confirm to her daughter that she'd quite had the catch.

 

“Arthur.” Eames spoke firmly, reaching out a hand which Arthur shook grudgingly. Their eyes met but Eames didn't smile and he couldn't read any emotion in his gray irises.

 

Fine by him. He hoped he'd never have to see this asshole again, which was unlikely but a lovely fantasy.

 

Three weeks later, shit _truly_ did hit the fan.

* * *

 

 

“I don't know, sis. Got a lot of schoolwork, you know?” Arthur muttered to Rebecca on the other side of the line.

 

“Oh come on, Artie. I've missed you a lot. We haven't spent a night drinking and watching cult movies all night, for ages.” She whined and Arthur grimaced as he recalled their past. They'd done that a lot, when they didn't fight they'd been best friends.  
They'd watch Tarantino movies, taking shots of tequila every time an actor would say a cuss-word and then they'd fall asleep on the sofa or floor around four AM only to wake five hours later with massive hangovers.

 

That had been before the divorce of their parents.  
Those had been the days.

 

“I don't know...” He tried but knew it was a lost battle.

 

“Come on, brother. Eames will be on a job so we can spend the whole weekend living like bums... I got some quality pot as well.”

 

“You smoke pot?”

 

“Arthur. Seriously?”

 

On second thought, that wasn't that big of a surprise. Rebecca could be a picture-perfect daughter but since Arthur wasn't a parent, he knew more than anyone about her wild-streak.  
Apparently she hadn't lost her edge one bit.

 

“Okay fine.”

 

“Knew Mary-Jane would convince you.” She mischievously added, as if Arthur would be up for anything if it meant he could smoke and drink, which wasn't true, not completely...

 

“Saturday around noon sounds good?”

 

“Yeah sure.”

 

“Cool, see ya then, lil' bro.” She hung up the phone before he could scold her for the condescending and instead just glared at his phone for a couple of seconds before retreating to his bedroom. He needed to get a head-start on his homework and studies if he was planning to spend all weekend getting drunk and high.

 

He couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't a good idea though. But then he brushed it off on the fact he was worried about schoolwork and the various deadlines. Just two days of fun wouldn't hurt him, right?

* * *

 

 

 

Turns out that Arthur had been wrong about feeling dreadful for his weekend with Rebecca, because he was having a blast.

 

Being drunk and high with his sister was lovely.  
They surfed the web on her laptop, looking up old classmates and gossiping about them. Pulp Fiction was playing on the background and their game of shots had turned into sipping from the bottle whenever the other would pass it over.

 

It took them two bottles of tequila and three joints before they both decided to call it a night if they didn't want to end up vomiting their insides out and slip into a fucking coma.

 

Rebecca retreated in her bedroom and Arthur cozied up on the large sofa in the living-room. Her house was almost uncomfortably warm and Arthur kicked off the blanket, instead lying in sea-star-sprawl on the furniture only dressed in boxer-briefs, limbs dangling and mouth agape.

 

The room was spinning and he prayed he'd fall asleep soon enough. It took him three minutes of regretting his life-choices before he did fall into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

 

He woke somewhere in the middle of the night. The living-room was still pitch-black dark, no sunlight or sunrise yet peeking through the curtains.

 

What had woken him up, Arthur wasn't sure about, but he was half-awake with a headache and nauseas stomach urging him to go back to sleep.

 

Arthur groaned. Lying on his stomach wasn't a good idea and thus he rolled onto his back. He was still unbearably hot, limbs still sprawled about. He closed his eyes, calming down his breathing and not minding the eerie silence for the sake of just catching sleep again.

 

He was still _so_ drunk though. The cannabis and alcohol making every inch of him slump heavily. He felt sluggish, hazed and absent. As if only a part of his brain was awake.

He'd been in this situation before though, so he didn't panic. He just needed to sleep it all off.

 

This reasoning caused Arthur to believe he was imagining the footsteps in the living-room, and even if they were real, it probably was Rebecca getting another spliff. Typical her.

 

His conscious was descending once more and Arthur floated on the border of sleep and wake.

With images starting to form on his eyelids, half-dreams ready to swallow him, Arthur relaxed only further. He didn't mind the voices either, allowing his own mind to embrace them and drag him back into slumber. Any minute now.

 

“Hm, what do we have here.” A raspy voice whispered somewhere in the distance and Arthur just groaned because he couldn't fucking believe that Eames' voice was haunting his peaceful, drunk slumber.

His groan ended up not leaving his throat and it sounded more like a repressed snore than anything else.

 

Fuck he loved and loathed being this high and drunk and wavering on the edge of consciousness.

 

It took him far too long to realize that the weight somewhere to his right, dipping the soft cushions of the sofa, and afterwards the sensation of being caged in from the top, wasn't part of his hallucinating dreams.

 

Arthur's eyelids heavily lifted and after various seconds he finally noticed a shade leaning over him in the dark. He gasped, shooting up but the figure pressed him back down on the sofa, slapping a warm palm over his mouth and shushing him.

 

When Arthur knew he was actually awake and that there was someone here in the room with him who wasn't his sister, the rest of his senses kicked in.  
He smelled aftershave, musk, he heard soft breathing, he felt the body-heat of the person even though he wasn't touching him except for the palm on his mouth and-

 

Arthur mewled and winced when noting another hand was resting on one of his inner-thighs and he reached down a hand to grasp the person's wrist.

 

“Ah-ah-ah.” The man tutted when he wanted to escape once more, pushing down more forcefully and surprisingly able to keep him down with just his hands. Then again Arthur was drunk as heck and he probably couldn't even have gotten up if he'd been alone.

 

When the man leaned closer and Arthur's eyes adjusted to the dark and his mind lost some of its haze, he knew it was Eames.

 

His hands grabbed any spot of the sofa he could reach and his whole body stiffened. He didn't dare move, for some ridiculous reason he didn't dare fight because well... this man was twice his size and could beat him up effortlessly.

And then, Rebecca was sleeping in the room above them... there was no way Eames was going to do anything to him. Why would he? There probably was some reason as to why he was sitting here.

 

“Are you going to be quiet?” Eames asked after a minute. Arthur nodded and when Eames removed the hand from his mouth, he gasped for breath. His nose was terribly clogged and he inhaled deeply with lips parted.

 

“Sh-sh-sh. It's fine, Arthur. Don't worry.” The words didn't match the path of his hand which now wrapped loosely around his throat. He didn't squeeze, only allowed the weight of it to rest on his Adam's apple... But it _was_ a warning.

 

“What the fucking hell are you fucking doing?” Arthur hissed, his tongue still slurring though he felt more sober than he had minutes ago.

 

“Now now, that's no way to talk to your brother-in-law, is it?” He teased quietly and Arthur stirred once more when he felt the hand on his thigh squeezing sharply.

 

“Exactly. You're my brother-in-law, you sick fuck.” In the dark he could not read Eames' expression, could only smell and hear and feel him.  
Arthur had no idea what this was about, had no idea how far Eames was planning to take 'this', whatever it was.

 

In the back of his mind he patted himself on the shoulder for having known from the start that Eames was an asshole and something about him had seemed off.

 

“How am I supposed to resist such a pretty little thing on _my_ couch, under _my_ roof, hm?” Eames asked, his voice void of emotion other than mock. His hand kneaded Arthur's thigh though the boy hardly noticed it throughout his confusion, anger and fear.

 

“Maybe you should go upstairs and fondle your wife a bit, you fucking pervert.” Arthur growled.

 

A long silence followed and Arthur could feel the hand on his throat growing heavier, intentional or not, he wasn't sure.  
Eames chuckled softly in the dark, the sound coming as a surprise after the minute long silence and startling Arthur.

 

“Why fool around with her when I've got a willing thing right here ready to be devoured?”

 

“I'm not willing, you son of a-”

 

“Ah but what's this then?” Eames interrupted him and Arthur choked on a whimper when the hand on his thigh slid up to grab his groin painfully tight.

 

He was _hard_.

 

Fuck no.

 

Arthur stuttered, wanting to say something or move away but Eames literally had him by the balls and the hand on his throat tightened its grip that little bit more, warning him.

 

“I knew it from the start, you know?” Eames murmured, his voice a deep rumble. His thumb stroked over Arthur's throat, dipping in the hollow beneath his jawline close to the hinge. The pressure forced Arthur to arch his neck and he swallowed thickly.

 

“I saw it in you from the start. Your feisty nature, your heated eyes... I could tell you despised me from the start and for all the wrong reasons... or right ones, depends how you look at it, donnit.”

 

Arthur was at a loss of words and even thoughts. He had no fucking clue what Eames was talking about, what Eames was doing, what Eames was planning. He had no clue as to how anything had led up to this moment.

 

All that Arthur knew was that he was rock-hard underneath the man's hand and that his brain was growing foggy by more than alcohol and weed alone, because of the man's hand on his throat, because of his scent in his nostrils and his voice rumbling in his ears.

 

Arthur was aroused and he didn't understand why.

 

“You don't know it yet, do you?” Eames asked, leaning down and brushing his nose over the boy's throat underneath his thumb, inhaling.

 

“You don't yet realize you're made to be subdued... made to be dominated, cruelly almost... Because it turns you the fuck on, doesn't it, Arthur?” His hand squeezed a bit tighter and Arthur inhaled, whole body arching slightly.

 

“Doesn't it?”

 

It was true. Arthur was aroused. Aroused because of this man pretty much molesting him against his will. And that was a fucked up thing to feel.  
He'd heard about rape-kinks before, heard about how people got excited by fear, by violence... but fuck he'd never thought himself to be one of those -who he considered to be- sick perverts.

 

It didn't make much sense either. How could Eames possibly have known this from the beginning? How could he possibly know that he'd give Arthur a boner just by _harassing_ him, choking him in the same house his wife was sleeping.

Which brought him to the subject of why the hell this man was cheating on Rebecca and why the hell Arthur was sexually enjoying this despite the fact this was his sister's husband.

 

The confusion and guilt made him sick to the stomach and he swallowed a couple of times to keep the bile down, which was hard with the fingers wrapped around his throat.

 

“Tell me it turns you on, Arthur.” Eames whispered into his ear, squeezing harder both on his neck and his crotch.

 

“Tell me.” He urged and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, knowing there was no way out.

 

“I-it turns me on.” His voice was high and broken by the lack of air and it seemed as if his erection only grew harder and harder, throbbing under the man's brutal grip.

 

“Tell me it turns you on to be choked, to be touched against your will.” Eames spoke with an eerily calm voice which only sickened Arthur further.  
This was so fucked up, this was so fucking wrong. How the fuck was his body enjoying this while his mind wasn't?

 

His subconscious obviously was having a blast because there's no way a body alone could go erect by such painful grips without there being a suppressed kink for it.

 

“Say it.” The man whispered, his face so close to Arthur's that he could feel and smell his breath.

Arthur had to swallow a couple of times and collect his mind to get as far as repeating the man's words.

 

“It turns me on to... to be choked. And... touched against my will.” Arthur's voice strained and he thought he could hear a rumble in the Brit's chest.

Eames squeezed harder and Arthur's body arched up into the man above him.

 

“That's it... There you go.” Eames whispered, his voice as heavy as his hands and all Arthur could do was groan and gasp breathlessly for air which refused to reach his lungs. He felt as if he was floating, his thoughts sank away and all he could feel was a delicious wave of fuzzy sparks traveling through his nerves. All senses seemed to spiral to the points Eames was touching him; his throat and his dick.

 

There were no thoughts about Rebecca, no memories of Eames' obnoxious personality, no conscience about getting turned on by actions which in another setting would traumatize a person.

 

Arthur felt as if he could sink away in nothingness any minute now and he didn't panic, his hands just relaxed their grip on the sofa as his body arched and arched and his hips rutted and rutted into Eames' hand.

 

His gasps were soundless and breathless, his eyes rolled back in his head. He couldn't breathe, his lungs had no air left, the grip on his throat was tight and painful and demanding and just when he was ready to tip over the edge of consciousness, he came.

 

Eames released his throat at the same time he rubbed Arthur's erection to orgasm and the climax shot through Arthur's system like a freight train; hard, fast, painful, and so fucking glorious he wanted to die in the moment.

 

The intake of oxygen felt like coming back alive, reaching the surface and hitting the brightness of the sun above the water-line. And it was so brilliant... so perfect... so... so unique that Arthur whined the whole way through his aftershocks.

 

It took him minutes, _many_ minutes to recover from the mind-blowing orgasm and when he opened his eyes he noticed his lashes were moist. He'd literally sobbed himself through the climax but he couldn't find the energy within himself to be ashamed of this.

 

“Welcome back.” Eames murmured somewhere above him. He'd gotten up from the sofa.

 

Arthur watched the man with vague eyes, not a single fight left within him. He just wanted to pass out.

Eames patted him on the head before his shadow walked away and his footsteps eventually disappeared along with the boy's consciousness.

* * *

 

 

Arthur woke up about four hours later. This time the sun was peeking through the curtains and the boy looked up at the wall behind the TV, spotting the clock and seeing that it was nearly two in the afternoon.

 

Images of last night came back to his mind as he groaned through his hangover. He'd drank and smoked so fucking much and then had passed out and had the most sickening dreams.

 

When he carefully got up though, he noticed the dried mess in his underwear and with a jolt he snapped fully awake.

 

 _Eames_.

 

He nearly sprinted towards the bathroom, emptying his stomach in the toilet and not being sure if the bile had been forced out by the abuse of drugs or because of the fact that he'd been raped by Eames last night.

 

It took him a long time to recover, only feeling better after a half an hour shower and having brushed his teeth and tongue for a lifetime.  
Looking in the mirror was a heinous reminder of what had happened, because he could see various red dots on his throat; points of Eames' fingers.

 

And then he heard them both. He heard his sister's voice, chatting carelessly, every now and then pausing to give way for Eames' more quieter and deeper rumble.

 

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?  
Just come out of the bathroom and confront them both? Confront his sister alone? Confront Eames alone? Ruin their marriage? Ruin his sister's happiness because that's what she was... No matter the pervert living alongside her, Arthur hadn't seen her more carefree and giggly in his whole life, childhood included.

 

Rebecca was happy and Eames apparently was the cause of this. Eames apparently had been her boyfriend for two years and even after the sealed marriage she still seemed to flutter through life without worry.

 

In retrospect Arthur wasn't sure if he made up these excuses for the sake of her or for himself.  
But in the very distant future he'd come to realize that not telling anyone about what had happened, had been a huge mistake.

 

Arthur dressed in the clothes that he'd brought along and had lied in the bathroom the night before and used some of his sister's foundation cream to camouflage the bruises on his neck. Luckily enough they were mostly to the side and close to the jawline.

Either way he chose to put the hood of his sweater over his head before slumping out the bathroom and into the kitchen.

 

“Morning!” Rebecca chirped and Arthur scowled at her.

 

“Oh my, you look like shit, Artie.” She then confessed with a teasing smirk and Arthur couldn't believe how she could be this unaffected by the alcohol and drug abuse of last night.

 

“Shut the fuck up.” He growled instead, slumping down at the table and letting out a relieved sigh because Eames wasn't in the kitchen anymore.

 

“Want any breakfast?” She asked, turning back to the counter to whatever it was that she was preparing.

 

“God no.” Arthur moaned, crossing his arms on the table and dropping his head on them.

 

He felt like shit. His mouth was still dry and tasted of toothpaste and his head seemed to stab itself with every beat of his heart. His joints ached, even his hair hurt and he regretted _everything_.

 

“Hey you...” Arthur stirred as he heard his sister breathe out the words and heard the movement of shuffling to his left. His skin broke out in goosebumps but he didn't dare look up.

 

He needed to get out of here. He didn't understand why he wasn't _more_ affected by what had happened.  
Eames had fucking molested him! Against his will, right? No matter if he'd somehow enjoyed it, it had still been a fucked up thing to do. They still, both had cheated on Rebecca.

 

But instead he listened to them flirt with one another, not finding the energy to lift a leg and run for it.

 

“Last night was great...” He heard Eames mutter somewhere in front of him where his sister was. Rebecca giggled before hushing her husband.  
Arthur wondered if the vague comment had been intentional to make Arthur's skin crawl. If not, it still managed to do just that.

 

“Wasn't it?” He urged on and Arthur peeked over his arm, watching Eames' hand on the small of Rebecca's back as he leaned into her side, his lips brushing against her ear, up and down.

 

“Shush, Eames. It was.” She hissed back, not looking at him and seeming to work more furiously on breakfast than before.

 

“Yeah?” Eames questioned, his hand sliding down over Rebecca's rear and Arthur dipped his head back into his arms, growing sick at the image. What a fucking pervert.  
What a fucking absolute disgusting pervert.

 

“Yes. Now go fetch Artie some water before he dies from his hangover.”

 

“Right away ma'am.” Eames commented louder this time and Arthur listened to how the man paced through the kitchen, opening the fridge, closing the fridge, opening a cabinet, taking out a glass (most likely), closing the cabinet and then pacing towards the table where Arthur was still slouched _on_.

 

“Here you go, Love.” Eames cheerfully spoke, his voice so loud it felt as if Arthur's eyeballs wanted to pop out to make room for his exploding brain. Arthur peeked over his arm, sight on the man's waist and then winced when he _slammed_ down a bottle of water and an empty glass in front of him.

 

His sister turned around, frowning.

 

“For fuck's sake, Eames. Stop teasing the poor thing. You awful, awful man.” Arthur couldn't agree more with her, but going by the lack of bite and the smile curling around her lips when Eames pressed her against the counter, it wasn't by heart.

 

Arthur sat upright, only because of the prospect of ice-cold water, and started to pour himself a glass.  
He dared to glance up for a second, catching Eames' eyes, who himself looked away immediately with a tightness to his lips.

 

His sister and her husband soon joined him at the table, both seated across of him and Arthur remorsefully poked at his breakfast with a fork.

 

“How come you're home earlier? Troubles with that one guy again?” Rebecca asked Eames and Arthur listened closely to their conversation.

 

“Au contraire. Apparently I was ahead of the rest and the meeting finished last night.” Eames replied, his voice raspy. Arthur glanced at him, watching him eat his omelet with a pleased hum.

 

“Such a hard worker.” She cooed, sliding a hand down his bicep.

 

“Oh you know I can work very, _very_ hard. Don't you, Sweetheart?” He threw her a wicked grin before focusing back on his plate of food.

 

Arthur got up from his seat then, his chair scooting back with a loud scratch, nearly tipping over. Rebecca looked startled and Arthur folded his hands into fists, taking a deep breath.

 

“I need to go home.” He spoke quickly, clipped, before stiffly turning around to go fetch the remainders of his clothes in the living room.

 

“Arthur?” His sister called after him with a worried tone to her voice and he heard Eames shush her, holding her back from following him which... he would've been grateful for if it had been done by anyone else but Eames.

 

He stuffed his clothes into his backpack with feverish motions, including the dirtied boxer-briefs he'd chucked in the pile of clothes when exiting the bathroom earlier today.

 

The boy _fled_ out the front door, walking with quick and long strides down the sidewalk.

 

He needed to get away from him, from them. He needed to get away from the house where Eames had choked him to a fucking orgasm. He needed to flee from the subconscious knowledge that the molestation, the harassment, the _rape_ , had been with consent because he'd liked it... He'd fucking loved it.

 

“Arthur wait!” Eames' voice called from behind him and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut for a second, cursing and quickening his pace.

 

“Arthur!” He called again, followed by a more composed and stifled ' _god fucking damn it_ '.

 

The boy had just turned the corner of their street when Eames grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and pulled him back, slamming him into a wall.

 

“Arthur, for fuck's sake, listen to me.” Eames sounded out of breath, his eyes were wide and the grip he had on his shoulders was firm, locking him against the brick wall behind him.

 

“Get off of me.” Arthur growled, shoving against the man's chest, ignoring the heat underneath his palm and how the broadness of his bulk strained the gray T-shirt he was wearing.

 

Eames was caught of guard and Arthur slipped under his arm, backpack still clutched on one shoulder. The man grabbed the black rucksack, pulling it from Arthur's arm and dropping it on the ground before he was able to throw an arm around his chest.

 

“Let me go!” Arthur shouted and Eames hushed him hastily as he pressed him back against the wall.

 

“Quiet! Let me explain!” He whispered, panic obvious on his features as he looked around to see if anyone was witnessing the happening. (Un)luckily enough, they lived in a quiet suburb and there was not a single soul to be spotted.

 

“There's nothing to explain, you fucking sicko.” Arthur firmly said, pressing against the man's chest again but knowing that he was too strong when focused fully on him.

 

“There is, Arthur! I'm sorry, look, let me walk you home, yea? I'll explain everything, alright? You don't need to accept my apology or believe my explanation but just let me try, yea?”

 

Arthur to this day wasn't sure what it had been that had convinced him to give this pervert a second chance.  
It most likely had been the pounding of his heart and the thick lump in his throat. And then the genuineness on Eames' features. The wide eyes, the agape lips, the sheer panic and worry he could read on his face.

 

It was strike two. Second mistake.

 

“Please, Arthur.” Eames whispered after a long moment of silence. The hands on his shoulders had loosened their grip, thumbs absently brushing beneath Arthur's collarbones and Eames' eyes wouldn't let go of his' until eventually the teenager looked away and nodded with a grimace on his face.

 

“Oh, bless you. Thank you, Darlin'.” Eames sighed in utter relief, letting go of him completely and leaning down to pick up his backpack.

 

He handed it over to Arthur but the boy refused to take it from him before having said what was on his mind.

 

“Don't fucking call me that.” Arthur muttered, slinging the rucksack over his right shoulder and he could see something dark flashing in the man's eyes. But as soon as it had appeared, it had vanished and Eames nodded with a small smile.

 

“Yeah, yeah of course, Arthur.”

 

They picked up their pace and started walking towards Arthur's home just a handful of blocks away.

 

It took Eames a full cigarette before he started to talk with hands dug deep in the pockets of his pants and his head dipped against the wind which wasn't per se cold, but nonetheless obnoxiously stinging to the eyes.

 

“I don't know what came over me last night.” He began and Arthur could see him watching him in his peripheral vision.

 

“I didn't plan it, you know. Didn't even know you were at our place... I'm not even gay, I was just very stressed, piss-drunk and bloody horny. Ya know?” Arthur kept quiet.

 

“I never wanted to cheat on your sister, Arthur. I don't want to hurt her, you don't want to hurt her either, do you?”

 

Arthur knew it was a guilt-tripping tactic. He knew Eames was shoving the excuse onto the fact that she was his sister. Arthur knew all of this but yet he couldn't help but nod in agreement.  
Eames did sound very remorseful and he couldn't blame the man for trying everything to not fuck things up. Perhaps this was prove that he did care very much about Rebecca... People made mistakes, people slipped and fell off the wagon... but that didn't mean Arthur would have to be selfish enough to screw up a possible future of a family by sharing the secret of said family's husband.

 

What if Rebecca and Eames were made for one another and were meant to have children and spend the rest of their lives together? What if Eames just had some personal issues that had tipped him over the edge? Perhaps this had been an eye-opener for the man.

 

Nobody was perfect, some less than the other.

 

“I'm very sorry, Arthur, I really am. You have to believe me, please.” They paused at the corner of Arthur's street and the boy looked up to meet the man's eyes.  
The regret he found there was more genuine than he could imagine anyone to be able to fake.

 

“I believe you.” Arthur muttered quietly and shrugged his shoulder to scoot up the backpack's strap which had began to slide off.

 

Eames helped him, pulling it up on his shoulder fully before patting him there. Arthur withheld the flinch.

 

“Alright...” He nodded, looking away for a second, sucking his bottom-lip between his teeth.

 

When their eyes met again Eames smiled and Arthur returned it with a more reserved one.

 

“Tell you what. Lemme make it up to ya, yea?” Eames spoke before he dug into Arthur's rucksack which still hung to his right. He fetched a pen out of somewhere and then opened his palm.

 

“Give me your hand.” He commanded and Arthur blindly obeyed because it seemed the right thing to do. Eames started to write digits in the palm of Arthur's hand.

 

“This is my work's mobile phone number. I carry it with me at all times but don't use it for personal calls such as to my wife.”

 

Arthur frowned, observing the man's long eyelashes now that he was busy scribbling something down.

 

“I'd give you my own number but then we wouldn't want Rebecca to get any wrong ideas, would we?” He smirked up at him before putting a dot behind the numbers and capping the pen as he straightened up.

 

“Call me some time if you've found something I can do to make it up to you. Can be anything; dinner, transport, clothes, money, any favor really or just a chat, if you want.” Eames spoke with nonchalance, handing over the pen and looking in the direction where he'd come from.

 

He didn't give Arthur much time to protest or question him or just ask what the fuck was going on.

 

“Your house is down the street, right?”

 

“Yeah...” Arthur replied a bit breathlessly, looking up at the man who only shortly glanced at him before turning around.

 

“Right. I'm headin' back home. Gimme a ring yea?” Arthur watched Eames walk away, dressed in only a too tight gray T-shirt and dark-gray sweatpants which hugged his ass in all the right ways. Arthur scowled at his own thoughts and looked down at his palm.

 

“What fucking planet are you on?” He muttered and wasn't sure if the question was directed to Eames or to himself.

* * *

 

 

Arthur had saved the number in his phone, just in case, under the name 'Shit-face'. He didn't plan on ever using it because frankly it had happened and it had been discussed and there had been apologies and well water under the bridge and all that.

 

He didn't feel a need at all to contact this man ever again and would rather not ever see him ever again.

School and finals made him forget about the number altogether but Eames himself still treaded in his mind mostly daily... or well, nightly.

 

He couldn't shake it. He couldn't forget about how wrong and right it had felt to have been manhandled and dominated and not having had a choice but to take what was given to him, forced upon him.  
The thoughts, the memory never failed to arouse Arthur at night, when the images would flash freely on his inner eyelids.

 

And that was bad.

 

It was in the third week after what had happened between Eames and Arthur, that the latter started researching on the web. Apparently he was not the only one getting turned on by wrong handling and not the only one feeling guilty and disgusted for it.  
But apparently, it was 'normal'... or well, not 'rare'.

 

The best of research still didn't tell Arthur what he wanted to know, nor did he really know what it was that he _needed_ to know to get rid of this side of him or if all else failed... accept it.

 

It was in a drunken haze, four weeks after the incident, that Arthur caved.  
He'd went out with friends, got hammered, made out with a guy and then had punched the guy in the face because he'd been kissing him like a girl and had been so careful and gentle and kind that it had made Arthur's skin crawl.  
He wasn't happy he'd straight-up punched a dude... Arthur wasn't a violent person AT ALL. But alcohol tended to bring out the worst of him, especially when being triggered and having been feeling like shit for the past weeks.

 

He got home around three in the morning and he'd been rutting his mattress for half an hour but couldn't come, even with the foggy images of Eames choking him. He couldn't come and it was driving him nuts, it was driving him crazy that Eames refused to walk out of his thoughts even though he hadn't seen the man nor heard of him for a month.

 

Why?!

 

Before he realized what he was doing, he'd dialed Eames' number and held the phone against his ear, still absently rutting against the mattress, panting. He was so drunk and so horny and so fucking stupidly obsessed with this asshole of a man.

 

It rang twice before Eames picked up, his voice raspy with sleep.

 

“Eames.” Eames growled and it took Arthur a moment to catch his breath and reply.

 

“H-hey... it's Arthur.” The boy meekly replied, biting his lip to keep back a moan as his cock throbbed between his stomach and the bed. Just hearing him, just knowing he was on the other side of the line, was nearly enough to tip him over the edge and tumble into climax.

 

“Bloody hell.” Eames sounded genuinely surprised and Arthur heard rustling in the background, probably blankets.

 

“Hold on a moment, yea?” He demanded and Arthur could sob because his voice seemed to be stroking his senses in all the rights ways and places.

 

Arthur heard muffled sounds, footsteps, doors opening and closing until finally Eames spoke again.

 

“Right. What's up?” Arthur snorted at the question but decided that replying with 'my dick' wouldn't be a good start of a conversation.

 

“I need to know what's wrong with me.” Arthur whispered instead and he stopped moving his hips when a silence followed.

 

“Arthur...” He sighed, but didn't seem to be angry.

 

“There is nothing wrong with you.” Arthur had no clue as to how Eames apparently understood what he meant and thus awaited him to continue.

 

“Don't beat yourself up over it. You've just been shoved into the realization a bit too harshly, hm? That's my fault, I should've taken it easier since you didn't even know about this part of you.” A beat.

 

“Nonetheless, this isn't 'wrong' to feel, Darling.” Arthur didn't even care about the nickname this time, not with the happy buzz of alcohol and the hotness in his chest caused by arousal.

 

“It's part of you, innit. It's in your nature.”

 

“Yeah?” Arthur cracked, feeling his shoulders relax at the words because he had been feeling very aggravated about this, upset and confused.

 

“Yeah, of course.” Eames chuckled kindly and another silence followed.

 

“Look, I can tell that you're a bit drunk, hm? So let's talk about this some time over dinner, what do you say?”

 

Arthur nodded, truly desiring to get to know more about what it was that was going on inside of his conscience and body. It took him a second to remember Eames could not see him nod.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Great. I'll ring you back in a couple of days. Just go to sleep and don't worry about something that is nothing to worry about. You're fine, Arthur... Perfectly fine.” His voice seemed to dip around the last couple of words but Arthur paid it no attention and instead dropped his phone onto the floor next to his bed.

 

He was so fucking tired.  
His hard-on be damned... he needed to sleep.  
Arthur's self-loathing for having contacted Eames only began the morning after.

* * *

 

 

 

Eames turned out to be a very considerate, polite and serious man when he wanted to.

 

It was Saturday evening and they were having dinner in a restaurant half an hour car-ride from their homes. Best to play safe, is what Eames said, even if what they were doing was harmless.

Arthur agreed, having told his mother that he'd be going out with his best friend Ariadne all night. It sounded better than having to say something along the lines of 'hey, I'm having dinner and a conversation about sexual kinks with my sister's husband tonight'.

 

Eames was completely different from the arrogant prick Arthur judged him to be.  
There still was a natural dominance that showed in his body-language, his strut, his leers, his smirks... but it was a part of him, right? It was in his... nature.  
Other than this, he was being a... well, a gentleman of sorts.

 

“Enjoying your steak?” Eames asked and Arthur looked up from his plate at the man across of him. He was smirking slightly, but not too lewdly.

 

“Yeah, thanks again for paying. I'm fucking broke.” Arthur muttered, shoving another large piece of meat into his mouth.

 

“Don't be silly, Arthur. It's my pleasure.” Eames rumbled, eating his own food with much more elegance and patience than Arthur did. The boy couldn't help but shiver at the way he said 'pleasure'... His stupid dirt-and-gravel voice was a lethal combo with the obnoxious English accent.

 

The restaurant didn't help either to keep Arthur's libido in control. The lights were soft, dimmed, and there were candles on the table in between their plates. The atmosphere was intimate, romantic but without the cliché and tacky edge.

Well, a restaurant that charged fifty bucks for a steak ought to not be tacky.

 

“So... I don't agree about what you did to me... I mean.” Arthur took a moment to get his words in order. It was pathetically difficult to form a proper sentence in the presence of Eames and his penetrating eyes and unreadable face. He was intimidating...

 

“It was without consent... not to mention, you were cheating on Rebecca.” Eames hummed his agreement, before he slipped a fork of food into his mouth, pursing his lips around it as he pulled it back out.  
Arthur tried his best not to focus on his lips.

 

It was refreshing to have someone not making up excuses to make themselves seem more innocent than they were. Eames didn't throw about excuses, he'd apologized and agreed that what he'd done had been wrong, and that's that.

He listened to Arthur. Fully listened. Something Arthur hadn't experienced much with people in his life. Everyone was focused on their selves, everyone felt an urge to talk themselves right, to make up excuses, sugarcoat words, making up topics in their head even before you finished talking.

 

But Eames... he was completely zoned into Arthur. Except for eating, he was focused on the boy fully. His eyes never left Arthur's face and his face never betrayed mock or impatience... or judgment.

 

“But you hit a nerve... kind of.” Arthur shrugged, looking down at his plate and starting to blush because of the wine and the visuals of what had happened between them.

 

“And it confuses me because it should not be right to... to... you know, get excited because of what you were doing to me.” He glanced up and Eames nodded slowly, urging him on.

 

“I should've been upset and disgusted and angry. And I was... for a little while... but then I realized that there was more to the picture, that there was more I was not telling myself.” Arthur leaned back in his seat, making little mazes in the sauce with his fork.

 

“I understand you completely, Arthur.” Eames calmly shared before sipping from his glass of wine. He swirled it for a minute, looking at the red liquid circling and glistening before putting it down and wiping his mouth with a napkin.

 

Arthur waited, impatiently, curiously. Eames leaned forward a bit, his elbows planted on the table, fingers weaved and chin resting on them. His eyes drilled through Arthur's.

 

“Putting aside the wrongness of having cheated on your sister and having gone ahead to do things to you without warning nor pre-decided consent, let's discuss what happened with you, yea?” Eames smiled and Arthur nodded shortly, feeling more shy now that he saw Eames' 'decent' side rather than his douche-bag jock one.

 

“You're a control-freak.” He began and Arthur paused mid-bite, fork hovering in front of his mouth, at those words. He was dead-on.

 

“You enjoy everything to go your way. What you say will be done. You need to be in control of every aspect in your life. I'm guessing you're a reader, prefer to read study-books rather than relaxing romans, and I'm pretty sure that you've organized them by genre and alphabet, if not by color or size.” Eames quirked another smile on his lips, sipping from his wine before continuing.

 

“You feel guilt when not being useful or doing something useful. You do not find yourself worthy to relax and you need a hand to get your mind off things. Alcohol and drugs help with that, which ironically enough make you guilt-trip the morning after.”

 

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose, not believing how right Eames was about him. How was this even possible? How did he know so much about him?  
His intelligence was a big turn-on.

 

“But it's not enough, is it, Arthur?” Their eyes met once more and Eames cocked an eyebrow at him.

 

“No.” Arthur agreed.

 

“You crave to lose control but are too controlling to allow it to disappear. This is why having someone control you, can be the most magnificent mind-swiping experience.” Arthur was definitely blushing now. His ears burning and his lips tingling.

 

“Giving up your control to someone else is a wonderful feeling. It wipes your mind clean of every worry and it revitalizes your deepest being. How grand would it be, Arthur, to not worry about anything? To not think about anything, to just exist and breathe and accept everything coming at you because you know nothing will hurt you, everything will please you.” Eames whispered and Arthur could feel himself growing in his pants, which was worrisome in the presence of his brother-in-law but nonetheless had everything to do with said man.

 

“That's what happened, Arthur, between us... It was not perfect, it was rushed and messy but did you not disappear from this earth? Did your mind not stop to just float into nothingness?” Eames' voice sounded like a liquid kind of pornography and Arthur subtly adjusted himself below the table, squeezing his erection to release some pressure.

 

“Yeah.” He replied stupidly, too turned on to say anything more. He felt nearly the same as he had seconds before he'd come, with Eames' hand squeezing the living breath out of him.  
He felt thoughtless.

 

“It's rather surprising how well you responded to me, with the given circumstances... You'd be a pleasure to any dominant man, I'm sure.”

 

“It takes two, doesn't it?” Arthur's words tumbled out before he realized and he firmly disguised his grimace with a questioning frown.

Eames seemed surprised as well, his eyes widening before they seemed to darken even though his pupils had been blown because of the dark and the focus all night. He sucked his bottom-lip between his teeth, glancing away and nodding.

 

“Very true.” He growled before waving to a waiter to bring the check.

 

“I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?” Arthur asked with a frown, watching Eames pocket his phone, getting ready to leave.

 

“Oh Arthur.” Eames laughed softly.

 

“In contrary, Darling.” He threw him a smile before handing over some bills to the waiter.

 

“Let's get you home.” Eames said, rising from his seat and helping Arthur out of his chair, which embarrassed the boy but he accepted the gesture nonetheless.

* * *

 

 

The car-ride went smoothly. Arthur was too busy mangling Eames' words in his mind, trying to figure out what all of this meant, to actually start a conversation.  
Besides, it felt as if this would be Eames' task.

 

“Do you know how much it turns me on to see you this submissive in my presence whilst you're a rather dominant boy with other people?” Arthur stirred and glanced at Eames from the corner of his eye.  
The man's face was blank, focused on the road and Arthur hoped that the warmth that spread through his tummy each time he heard Eames' gloves scrunch on the wheel, wasn't a newly developing kink.

 

“I'm not sure if I should apologize or insult you for that.” Arthur mumbled and Eames smirked at that.

 

“Being a brat about it only makes me want to subdue you more.” Arthur shut his mouth immediately, feeling the tension between them rise and shoving the fact that this was his sister's husband back into his mind.

 

They arrived at Arthur's home and Eames turned off the engine, shifting in his seat to face the kid.

 

“Look, Arthur.” He began, planting a firm hand on the boy's thigh which made the latter stir and choke on an intake of breath. He didn't dare look at the man, instead staring out in front of him stubbornly.

 

“What happened between us was obviously a mistake. It was wrong of me to do to you and it was wrong of me to hurt Rebecca. This doesn't mean though, that what you felt was wrong, please keep that in mind.” Arthur nodded curtly.

 

“If you desire to experience this again, or take it further, you will have to find the right partner. Someone's who's patient, trust-worthy and knows that what you desire will be done, respecting all possible boundaries.” Eames patted his thigh and started to pull back his hand before Arthur stopped him, grabbing his hand in his own.

 

“What- how... what am I supposed to do with this information now?” Arthur asked, glancing at Eames and only seeing patience and attention on his features. Eames' hand flattened back out over his thigh and Arthur loosened his grip though didn't pull away.

 

“That depends. I'm willing to meet up some time in the future and tell you more but words won't tell you all there is to know... If you truly want to go further with this, you'll have to find someone and experiment with them. It can be a wonderful outlet, if you want.” Eames said and then waited patiently for Arthur's reply.

 

“It's... it's all I can think about lately. At night that is... you know.” Arthur blushed and gnawed on the inside of his cheek.  
Eames hummed, nodding knowingly.

 

“It's exciting and new and to most it takes time to melt into, but you seem to be a natural. I've never... never met someone who responded so quickly and positively to my dominance.” A semi-awkward silence filled the car before Arthur collected enough courage to speak.

 

“I didn't know I was hard until you pointed it out to me.” The boy confessed, nibbling on his lips nervously, well aware of the heavy heat Eames' palm on his thigh caused.

 

“Arthur.” Eames groaned his name, pulling back his hand and instead gripping the wheel.

 

“We should call it a night. I'm happy to tell you more anytime you want and answer any question you have. Keep that in mind, Arthur.” Arthur nodded though he felt reluctant to leave the car.

 

“Okay, thanks.”

 

“My pleasure.” Eames slurred and Arthur swore that he could see a smirk on the man's lips but wasn't sure in the dark of the car. Instead he opened the door and hopped out, shutting it back behind him and walking to his front door without looking back.

 

Arthur felt Eames' eyes on his back the whole way until he disappeared into his house and slipped down against the door to the floor.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Arthur, what the fuck are you doing?” He groaned to himself, banging his head against the wood behind him before dropping it in his hands.

 

He was fucked.

He was _royally_ fuck

* * *

 

 

Arthur knew he had a crush on Eames when he started to call him for the silliest things. He made up the most pathetic excuses to call him and though he was sure Eames knew, he never seemed bothered about it. 

He always answered the phone with joy and charm, purring Arthur's name and asking however he could help him.

 

Arthur was running out of excuses though and as he sat on his bed at nine in the evening, not having talked to Eames for a whole week, he kind of panicked for not being able to come up with something, anything to ring him.

 

He nearly jumped out of his own skin when the phone in his hand started vibrating. Arthur raised it, eying the screen and nearly choking on his own spit when reading 'Shit-face'.  
He should really change his name some time.

 

“Hello?” Arthur awkwardly squawked after picking up the phone.

 

“Arthur, I haven't heard of you in ages. Don't you have some sugar to borrow or something along those lines?” Well, that confirmed that Eames did know Arthur made up the silliest things to call him.

 

“I-uh didn't have anything to ask, anymore.”

 

“Well, you can just call me for a chat as well, I told you that.” Eames chuckled and Arthur grimaced. No way he'd ever call him without a lie to justify his phone-call.

 

“Yeah well-”

 

“Anyways, Darling, sorry to interrupt you but my bath's about to flood. I wanted to ask if you felt like coming over tonight?”

 

Arthur blinked, staring in front of him before scowling at the phone in his hand.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Come over. You know. It's something us people say when one's invited to visit the other's house.”

 

“What do you mean _us_ people?” Arthur asked with a bratty lilt to his voice. He despised when people made fun of his shyness or awkwardness.

 

“Arthur, Arthur... you're an anal alien is what you a-” He began before Arthur heard him shuffle around and curse under his breath. The sound of running water came to his ears and then the squeak as he turned a faucet.

 

“Anyways, I nearly flooded the suburb so could you be a doll and answer my question, yea?”

 

“Y-yes!” Arthur squawked and cursed himself for sounding like a teenage fanboy.

 

“Brilliant, I'll pick you up at the corner in an hour and-”

 

“I can find my way, you know.”

 

“But it's dark out.” Eames said matter-of-factly and Arthur heard the frown in his voice.

 

“I'm nineteen, I can fucking walk in the frickin' dark if I want to.”

 

“You're nineteen? Wait, nevermind, of course I know you can walk in the dark, Darling. Everyone can, really. I'll be there at ten.” Arthur glared at his phone, despising the high-pitched note confirming Eames had hung up on him.

 

He didn't know why Eames had invited him over, he only knew he'd said yes. Rebecca was probably home as well so there wasn't much to worry about.

They were just going to eat together and then watch movies. Rebecca most likely wanted to catch up on some family gossip... and still, if his sister wasn't home, Eames and he were just going to talk.  
They'd been 'only' talking for months now. There was no harm in that.

* * *

 

 

As promised Eames awaited him at the corner of his street and Arthur threw him glare. The man just smiled around his cigarette before he pushed himself off the wall and followed Arthur through the streets.

 

They didn't talk. Arthur felt too nervous to talk, too angry as well because of Eames' earlier teasing.

 

They arrived fifteen minutes later, their pace firm.  
Eames opened the door, holding it for Arthur and locking it behind them.

 

“Make yourself comfortable. Coffee or tea?” Eames asked over his shoulder as he left Arthur in the living room and walked towards the general direction of the kitchen.

 

“Whiskey.” Arthur called and Eames barked a laugh.

 

“Tap water it is.”

 

Turns out Arthur got what he wanted because Eames returned with two glasses of Scotch.  
As the man sat down besides him, smelling of soap and clean laundry, Arthur couldn't help but awkwardly note that they were seated on the same sofa where _it_ had happened.  
He hadn't been in their house since then.

 

They sipped from their glasses in silence, staring at the black TV-screen across of them. Eames finished his drink first, placing the tumbler on the low table at their feet and then he turned to face Arthur, one leg drawn beneath him, hands resting on his shin and shoulder against the backrest.

 

“I invited you over because I have a proposition to make.” He began and the hairs on Arthur's neck rose in an eerie chill.

 

“Oh?” He outed, lips still on the rim of the glass and his breath fogging it from the inside out. He pulled the tumbler away awkwardly and looked at Eames.

 

“Please do finish your drink, we've got time.” His smile was a bit stiff, not unfriendly but there was something beneath the surface Arthur could not yet see.

 

“Isn't Rebecca home?” Arthur asked, nervous because of the silence and thus slapping some unnecessary questions on top of the awkward tension.  
Eames didn't seem much bothered though, just smirking and leaning more comfortably in the cushions.

 

“No, she's spending a weekend in Las Vegas with her girlfriends, didn't she tell you?” Arthur did vaguely remember his sister telling him this but had all forgotten about the date.

 

“Oh y-yeah. She did.” He muttered and then gulped down the rest of his Whiskey. He was able to swallow down the cough, nonetheless his eyes teared up a bit.  
  
“Good boy.” Eames muttered under his breath, taking the glass from Arthur's hand and placing it on the table before focusing his attention back on him  
The praise made his insides flip..

 

“Arthur. I want to be your teacher.” Eames said calmly and Arthur blinked a couple of times.

 

“I'm sorry, what?”

 

“I said I want to be your teacher.” He smiled and Arthur stirred as he realized what Eames was talking about.

 

“What? Why? I mean- Rebecca.” Eames frowned at that, looking away for a second.

 

“Rebecca and I don't really click... sexual-wise. Well, she does enjoy me and I do enjoy her, but for me it is not enough.”

 

Arthur suppressed a shiver caused by images of his own damn sister having sex with this asshat.

 

“Does Rebecca know?”

 

“She doesn't.” He looked back at him now and took a slow breath.

 

“Arthur, I'm going to be honest here, alright? I want to fuck your brains out... Not just once or twice. I want to fuck you as many times as possible for as long as possible. Do you understand?” His face was so blank that it would've been comically absurd in any other situation.  
Arthur couldn't laugh though. He just blinked at Eames, dumbfound, ignoring how the pit in his stomach had dropped a few stories lower and now nestled itself in his cock.

 

“I-I don't want to hurt my sister.” Arthur weakly said. He knew he _wanted_ Eames, he knew he didn't like the man for about thirty-three percent, but he did want him. He craved for him, he wanted to taste more of what had happened back then. He wanted Eames to teach him everything and wanted the man to have him any way he pleased. He wanted for him to hurt him...

 

But he absolutely did not want to ruin Rebecca's marriage and her happiness along with that.

 

Eames grimaced slightly but nodded.

 

“I know it sounds like an excuse but if I don't find a partner to share this _outlet_ with, I will end up growing bitter about Rebecca and ruin us all the same. I do not want to hurt her, not at all, but I also know I'll have to option for the lesser of two evils if desired to maintain this marriage and her happiness.”

 

A silence filled the space and Arthur took a moment to put the words in order, take them in and translate them.

 

“Why did you marry her then? You've been dating for two years prior, right? So why?” Arthur asked and Eames nodded.

 

“I love her.” Was Eames' answer and he rose from his seat, declaring the topic closed off.

 

Arthur frowned up at him, not understanding how you could cheat on the one you love.  
Eames reached out a hand and as Arthur took it, pulled him to his feet.

 

“Let's have a dance, shall we?”

 

“I can't dan-” Arthur's words got cut short because Eames pulled him roughly against his chest and then took his left hand in his right. The man's other hand slipped around the boy's waist and rested in the small of his back.

 

Arthur blushed profoundly but still managed to rest his arm on Eames' and a hand on his shoulder. They shuffled around a bit, in tiny circles, slow and calm.

 

“I cheat on her because I love her too much to let her go. I cheat on her because else wise I'd go insane and have to hurt her...”

 

“You're hurting her all the same, though.” Arthur muttered in the man's chest, not quite remembering when he'd rested his forehead against the Brit's shoulder, just above the collarbone.

 

“What she doesn't know won't kill her.” Eames murmured and Arthur could feel his voice rumble where his head rested against him.

 

“That's a terrible thing to say about someone you love.” Arthur whispered.

 

“And yet you remain. Right here. In my arms.” It stung to hear the truth. It hurt to hear someone confirm that Arthur was already a partner in crime of his sister's broken heart. Ignorance might be bliss, it was still an awful thing to do behind someone's back, no matter if they'd find out or not.

 

Did Eames not have honor? A conscience?

 

“I do this for her...” Eames spoke softly into Arthur's ear and the boy shivered in his embrace.

 

“I care for her, I make her happy emotionally, financially, sexually... But there's just one thing I need for myself. No matter who or how or when I fuck, my heart's at home with her.”

 

It sounded ridiculous but then it made sense... and it selfishly hurt as well.

 

Eames tightened his grip around the boy's waist and Arthur let out a pained huff. He felt hot already, his cheeks flushed and his breathing heavy.

  
They danced in the living room for many minutes after that, perhaps half an hour. Arthur just knew he'd closed his eyes somewhere during the process of having Eames sway him gently along with his sturdy body through the room. By the time Eames spoke, he was groggy and half-asleep, but still very fucking aroused. The man's musky scent, the hard planes of his chest and stomach, the firm grip around his waist, the fingers tangled through his own, his soft warm breath fanning out rhythmically on the shell of Arthur's ear... it was just too much... He could have never resist.

 

“I want you to go home tonight, Arthur... and think about what I said. I expect a phone-call within forty-eight hours. I want to let you know once more, that I will never hurt your sister and nor will I ever hurt you, push you, force you.”

 

Arthur nodded, believing him right there and then, intoxicated by his warmth and scent and voice.

Eames walked him home that night, never mentioning the obvious tent in Arthur's pants, and giving him a peck on the cheek as they parted ways.

 

Arthur did not sleep that night, only brutally jerked himself off three times and then bit back the tears after each orgasm.  
He knew his answer already and it hurt him because of his sister but he could never resist this man... he pined for him, craved him like he'd never craved for anything in his whole life.

 

Eames had promised to not hurt Rebecca and Arthur did believe him.  
And then he'd promised he'd never hurt Arthur, and Arthur again believed him.

 

Seven years later he loathed those words, the lie, the stupidity of himself to ever believe this cheater of a man.  
His blindness had been self-sacrificed and self-chosen.

* * *

 

 

Arthur called Eames after forty-five hours.

 

Eames picked up on the first ring and before he could say anything Arthur whispered a meek ' _yes_ '.

There was a pause and he wondered if Eames was recollecting himself such as Arthur had been doing the past two fucking days.

 

“Alright, Arthur. I will call you this week to have dinner somewhere and discuss further about the subject.”

 

“... Okay.”

 

“You alright, Love?” Arthur's heart skipped a beat at the pet-name, and this time it wasn't because of anger.

 

“I'm fine. I'll wait for your call.”

 

“Good boy. Sleep well.” He hung up first and Arthur dropped the phone in his lap, staring at nothing in particular and asking himself what he'd gotten himself into.

 

He couldn't care much though, because only a minute later he got a text from Eames;

 

' _u got good taste in blokes.. ill take care of ya ;) x_ '

 

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the lazy typoes and childish emoticon and the little kiss at the end.  
He fell asleep with the phone clutched to his chest.

* * *

 

 

“I brought a list.” Eames declared with a shit-eating grin plastered on his ridiculously good-looking face.

 

“You don't strike me as a list person.” Arthur deadpanned, nonetheless taking the folder that Eames reached out to him before sitting down across from him. They were in a diner somewhere next to a highway. It looked shitty at first but then Arthur spotted the variety of milkshakes (cherries and tiny umbrellas included) on a flyer and he was settled.

 

“I do strike, though.” He innocently pouted, peeling off his coat. Arthur narrowed his eyes but other than that didn't comment any further. It was best to just shut up around Eames, the man would just manhandle your words down the drain anyways.

 

“That's why I sprinted back to the car just now. Wanted to grab the list before we had our quality fries in a basket meal.” Eames smiled, getting as comfortable as possible on the red bench, slouching.

 

“And here I thought you'd dumped me in a diner to leave me to rot. Besides, I want a milkshake.”

 

“Oh Poppet, how could anyone ever want to get rid of you, hm? You can have a milkshake, after your fries.” Arthur's mood changed from flattered to annoyed in literally zero point five seconds.

 

“I don't want fries.” He mumbled, eying Eames who was busy flipping through the menu. It took the man a couple of seconds before he looked up from his hunched position, gray eyes glaring through eye-lashes.

 

“You're going to have fries and afterwards a milkshake, Arthur.”

 

“But-”

 

“Do as you're told.”

 

Eames' voice had changed, dropped a few octaves, gained a bit of gravel to it and Arthur froze in his seat. A shiver rolled down his spine and he realized that this was it, wasn't it? This was the dominance display that turned them both on.

 

This was fuckin' foreplay.

 

“Okay.” He weakly added, watching Eames beckon a waiter and place both their orders.

 

“Are you always going to decide what I eat?” Arthur asked with an eyebrow raised. Eames shook his head, closing the menu and leaning back in his seat.

 

“Oh no, not at all. It's just for fun, isn't it?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Anyways, these are things you can refuse if you like. The file I gave you contains a massive lists of games to play and things to do and you can take your time to decide what you love, what you like, what you don't like but would try when time's right, and then what you absolutely do not want to do.”

 

Eames talked nonchalantly, his eyes scanning the diner.

 

“There's rules?”

 

“Every game has its rules, Arthur.”

 

The boy couldn't quite shake the irritation he felt for having this called a game. It hadn't felt like a game back then on the sofa... it had felt like fucking reality.

 

“Should I go through them now?” He asked, looking up at the man and seeing his lips curl.

 

“You can have a look, yes Arthur. Fill it in when you're focused, though.”

 

Arthur opened the folder and glanced at the long list, five fucking pages of them.

 

“Jesus.” He muttered under his breath and Eames nudged him against his shin under the table with the toe of his shoe.

 

“You're gonna have to cut back on the cussing, young man.” Eames teased. Well Arthur thought he was teasing and thus dared to kick up the brat-level.

 

“What? Are you my daddy now?”

 

“That's on the list as well, you can put a V behind it.” He remarked dryly and Arthur would've sputtered on his own spit if it weren't for their waiter arriving with two red baskets with French Fries in them.

 

“Ketchup?” Eames innocently asked as Arthur was still staring at the list, in awe and shock.

 

“Yeah, sure, thanks.” He muttered, frowning over questions containing words such as 'flogger' and 'figging' and 'felching'. He had no clue what all of those meant but was pretty sure he shouldn't ask in the middle of a cheesy diner and risk getting a hard-on in public.

 

They ate in silence and Eames seemed to be highly amused by the whole thing, grinning around a fry clenched between his teeth whenever Arthur risked looking up at him from the list.

 

When the waiter came to clean their table, Eames leaned forwards and placed the back of his hand against Arthur's forehead.

 

“You look flustered, Arthur, you sure you're alright?” The boy stirred, glaring at Eames and ignoring the tiny 'aw' that fell from the waiter's lips before she disappeared once more in the back of the tiny restaurant.

 

“You're mean.” Arthur pouted and Eames' smirk only widened as he pulled away and slouched back into his seat.

 

“Oh, you have no idea.”

* * *

 

 

The boy got his milkshake alright and though his tummy hurt afterwards he still accepted the ice cream Eames offered for the car-ride back to home.

 

“Do you feel like a pervert for offering a teenager so much candy throughout the night?”

 

“You're nineteen, Arthur. There's nothing perverted about this, is there.” Eames smiled slightly, putting Arthur at ease.

 

He hummed around a mouthful of pistachio ice cream and looked back in front of him at the snow spiraling towards the windshield as if they were driving through space. For a second he wanted to tell Eames this silly detail but then he wasn't sure if it would be appreciated.

 

“So, Eames...” He began. Eames hummed, eyes focused on the dark empty road but Arthur could tell that most of his senses were paying attention to him.

 

“How far does this thing go... like-uhm.” He stopped before he said something stupid. Eames was obviously deeply in love with his wife, thankfully so, and because of this Arthur couldn't quite grasp how meaningful the relationship between himself and the Brit actually was allowed to be.

 

“As far as you want it to go, Arthur.” Eames replied and Arthur absently nibbled at the cone, not caring that his nose dipped in some melting ice cream.

 

“Though what we'll be experiencing will be very sexual, it will be based upon deeper emotions, hm?” Arthur paused mid-lick and glanced at Eames who looked back at him and smirked as he saw his tongue sticking out mid-air.

 

“These are things necessary to be based upon friendship, respect and trust. Hence why our first time was a huge mistake.”

 

“It didn't feel like a mistake...” Arthur muttered with a frown before dragging his tongue over the melting ball of ice cream.

 

“Luckily enough, yeah. Just know that we'll take it easy from now on. You can ask me anything, tell me anything. I will listen to you, take every word to heart and will help you as much as I can. There's no taboos here, Arthur. You can share with me anything you want and I promise you I will not get upset, I will not judge and I will not walk away.” Eames glanced at him once more, his face serious and Arthur nodded.

 

“Alright.”

 

“Now eat your ice cream and be a good boy.” The man smirked and Arthur would've punched him in the arm if he wasn't busy preventing the melting ice cream to drip on his clothes or worse, the car's expensive-looking leather seats.

 

Arthur didn't speak until he finished his ice cream. Ignoring the stomach ache, he turned a bit in his seat, pulling one leg up and hoping Eames would not be upset that his shoe was resting on the seat.

 

“I saw a lot of words I don't understand on this list... can I text you to ask about them?”

 

“Of course you can, Arthur. I gave my phone-number for a reason.”

 

“Do you think that like... if we play games, it'll be too staged?” Eames nodded thoughtfully at his words and Arthur observed his handsome features in the passing lights of the highway. Black, white, black, white.

 

“It can be, but it doesn't have to be. It depends on what you desire to do. If you get off on fear and violence, we'll have to be very realistic and discus a safe-word. If playing doctor takes your fancy...” Eames drawled, snorting before he continued.

 

“I would believe that could come across staged but it wouldn't harm the charm, if you know what I mean.”

 

“What's a safe-word?” Arthur asked, he felt more awake than ever. His attention fueled with curiosity and most likely the overdose of sugar he'd consumed in the past hour and half.

 

“A safe-word is a word we both decide upon that you can say when you want to stop everything that's going on at that particular moment. Say the word and it is my job to seize all actions and make sure you're alright and taken care of.”

 

“Why can't I just say 'stop'?” Arthur asked, figuring out the answer when Eames smirked mischievously.

 

“Well, in some games, shouting 'stop' will be part of the kink, hm?”

 

“I think I understand.” Arthur muttered, turning back to face the windshield and noting Eames was driving into his street. He was blushing profoundly, images of future happenings playing in his mind like a cheap porn-movie.

 

Eames parked a couple of houses down from Arthur's own and turned off the engine and headlights.

 

“You alright?” He asked, turning to face the boy and Arthur took a moment to let everything sink in.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You can always get out, don't worry about that. If you change your mind, let me know, or rather discuss it with me. We can go slower, we can go faster, everything is up to you Arthur. Whatever feels good for you will be my command.” Eames' eyes didn't leave Arthur's and the boy could feel himself flushing.

 

“Yeah, alright.” He hesitated, staring at Eames' face and wondering what was stopping him to get out of the car. He enjoyed being in Eames' presence... that much was certain.

 

“Go ahead, Arthur.” Eames urged on, waiting patiently.

 

“It's just that... I hope that you can make me feel like that again some time.”

 

“I will.” He almost growled, his eyes dark and Arthur forgot to breathe for a second.

 

“O-okay so... I'll go inside then.” The boy cursed himself for the awkward stuttering and grabbed the door-handle behind him, turning to get out of the car.

 

“Arthur wait.” Eames grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a tight embrace. Arthur didn't even mind the gear-stick poking his belly and instead wrapped careful arms around the man's ribs, hands flattening over the hard planes of his back.

 

“You can call me any time about anything. Whether it be about our relationship, your school, your personal life, boredom, anything, alright?” Arthur smiled into the man's shoulder because that had been what he'd wanted to hear.  
He'd wanted to be sure Eames would be more than just a fuck-partner.

 

Eames let go of him far too soon and as Arthur pulled back, Eames squeezed the nape of his neck in a gentle manner. Nonetheless, the little pinch made Arthur weak to his knees and he had no doubt Eames would be able to make him come within ten seconds if he wanted to.

 

Clutching the file to his chest, Arthur got out of the car and walked to his home, noticing Eames only started the engine when he reached his front door. He only drove away when the boy closed the door behind him and it was an alien feeling to have someone look after him so closely at the age of nineteen... It was nostalgic, comforting and something the boy was sure he needed to feel at peace for once.

* * *

 

 

Their first 'thing' didn't happen as planned.

 

Well, _nothing_ had been planned.  
They'd occasionally meet up, having dinner and discussing details and the bigger lines of their relationship. They'd gone through the whole list of kinks and fetishes and limits together, it had taken them a couple of hours and lots of coffee.

 

Tonight was supposed to be another meet up for some dinner and late-night coffee but then Eames told Arthur Rebecca was on a weekend with her father on the other side of the States and invited him over at their place... and Arthur just _knew_.

 

He knew that one of them was going to snap that night. Arthur had been walking around with a permanent boner for the past weeks, experiencing shortness of breath and in great danger of cardiac arrest whenever in Eames' company.  
And Eames... well...

He just grew more and more dominant. His eyes more and more hungry as time progressed.

 

Something was gonna give. Even though they hadn't planned a single thing, Arthur couldn't take it any more.

 

Eames cooked them dinner, even though Arthur had told him take-out would be fine. They ate in the living room, watching TV absently but there was a thick atmosphere lingering around them. The tension was heavy, the silences awkward, and Arthur now understood the saying of there being electricity in the air.

 

The Brit smoked a cigarette after they'd both finished their plates and the sight of his full lips wrapped around the cylinder was almost enough to punch Arthur into a spontaneous stroke.  
He couldn't understand how Eames had so much self-control. It was obvious he wanted him... he eyed him like a piece of meat most of the time, would brush fingers over his neck or back whenever passing him by, would throw him bed-room eyes with lopsided smirks... It was insane.

 

Arthur gave himself an erection by just taking in the man's scent and the obvious fact that he was sitting next to him, so close he could touch him. He was obnoxiously good-looking. His face, his thick arms, his fucking back... his thighs.

 

The boy was fully erect by the time he got up from the sofa, and he hadn't even touched himself.

 

Eames acted as if he didn't notice Arthur getting up. He smoked his cigarette in peace, ashtray resting in his free hand and his gray eyes lazily staring at the TV.

The boy walked towards him, going to stand in between the man's already spread legs and watched how Eames stared at his waist for a moment before he blinked, looking down and tapping ashes into the tray.

 

Fuck... he was going to make him work for it.

 

“Eames...” Arthur whispered, turned on beyond comprehension. He was breathing heavily, the tightness of his pants a wonderful pressure against his erection. His hands were clammy, his mouth dry, knees wobbly and chest heavy.

 

“What is it Arthur?” Eames asked coolly, leaning back and taking a drag from his cigarette, looking anywhere but at the boy.  
For a long moment Arthur second-guessed himself... what if Eames did not like spontaneousness? What if he only wanted to fool around when planned out beforehand?

 

In a fit of panic he hooked his fingers underneath the rim of his T-shirt and with crossed arms pulled it up and over his head, tossing the shirt aside on the sofa and dropping his arms.

Eames' jaw clenched, his eyes glaring at Arthur's tummy and he could almost smell the arousal on him... Eames wanted this as much as he did... Arthur was sure of it.

 

“What're you doing?” Eames asked with a disinterested frown, taking a last drag from his cigarette, eyes squinted against the smoke. He pressed out the butt in the ashtray and then handed it over to Arthur.

 

Though the boy felt an urge to slap it out of his hand, he still obeyed the unspoken command, taking the ashtray and placing it on the table behind him before turning back to the man.

 

“Eames... please. I want you to touch me.” Arthur whined quietly, his fingers folding and unfolding.

 

“You _want_ me to touch you?” He asked, eyes finally rolling up to meet Arthur's. The boy stirred at the glare and gulped loudly.

 

“It's not yours to tell me what you want, is it Arthur?” Eames' voice was but a gravely whisper and Arthur nearly came in his pants by this alone, along with the fact that the game had begun... Eames was in his role and it was the most fucking hottest thing he'd ever witnessed.

 

“No.” Arthur replied meekly, stirring as Eames slid fingers over his stomach, down over the line of pubes and hooking behind Arthur's belt before his hand dropped back on his lap.

 

“Down.” Eames said, his voice seemingly calm but nonetheless demanding. It took a second before the word processed in Arthur's arousal-induced brain. Sinking to his knees felt a bit awkward, but going by the darkness of Eames' eyes and his flared nostrils, it was a nice sight to behold.

 

“Bow your head.” He continued and Arthur's breath stuttered as he dipped his chin to his chest, looking down at the carpet under his knees.

 

Eames said nothing after that. He just leaned forward, resting an arm on the boy's head as he seemingly continued to watch TV.  
  
And it made Arthur's dick so hard it hurt. He loved this... loved being ignored, used as an inanimate object, shoved aside because Eames chose to do other things and Arthur could wait.

 

Apparently sitting still and being quiet was what Eames had wanted because after ten long minutes, his arm pulled away to make room for a hand brushing over the boy's head.

 

Eames leaned down further and Arthur couldn't help but groan when he felt his lips so close to his ear. The hand on his head cradled more tightly, keeping it down.

 

“Well done.” Eames whispered.

 

“I'm impressed... Stay.” Before Arthur could lose himself in the praises (which honestly made his chest feel as if it was about to burst of the heat inside) Eames got up, stepping over him and exiting the living room.

 

Arthur groaned, tilting his head back to stretch his neck and scooting a bit closer to the sofa in order to rest his forehead on the edge of the cushion.

 

Eames returned to the living room a couple of minutes later and Arthur wondered what he'd been doing.

 

“I thought I told you to stay.” Eames remarked, it wasn't a question and Arthur froze.

 

“Did you move?” He asked then and Arthur saw he was standing close to his right through his peripheral vision.

 

“I just leaned a bit forward.” Arthur muttered.

 

“You did not scoot your knees closer to the sofa?” Arthur knew Eames knew, but his curiosity, his trust in the man, told him he'd have a good time if he lied and ignited the man's anger. The question was, was he ready to play this game?

 

Eames knew what Arthur's limits were and he knew even more what the boy loved and preferred. They'd gone through the list numerous times, as if Eames had studied it out of his head, which he probably had.  
Nothing would go bad... not with this man in the room.

 

“No.”

 

“No?” Eames asked, giving him a second chance.

 

“... No, I didn't.” A long pause followed and the only warning he got was a quiet hum from Eames.

After that, everything went into action.

 

Eames grabbed him by the hair, pulled him up so quickly and harshly that Arthur couldn't decide whether his senses should focus on the dizziness or the pain in his scalp. He yelped, instinct, as Eames threw him on the sofa as if he were a ragdoll.

 

Arthur wanted to get up but Eames was on him before he could recuperate from the drop. He nearly sobbed when Eames finally grabbed him by the throat and shoved his knee in between his legs.

 

“Oh fuck.” The boy groaned, arching his whole body up into Eames' and alright, he should've put up more of a fight but fuck... he'd been turned on since the moment he'd stepped inside and that had been hours ago.

 

They'd waited long enough.

 

And Arthur genuinely feared his dick would drop off if he didn't come in the next minute.

 

“Oh look at you.” Eames whispered against his lips and Arthur wanted to kiss him, his lips trying to brush against Eames' which the man didn't allow at all. He only tightened the grip on Arthur's throat, keeping him down and less than an inch away from his full lips.

 

“How long have you been wanting this, hm?” The man asked, rubbing his thigh against Arthur's clothed crotch, meeting his thrusts.

 

“Tell me how long you've been wanting this.”

 

“Oh god... so long, so fucking long.” Arthur's voice was barely audible, rasping underneath the man's grip. This time Arthur did bring up his hands and he placed one on the man's wrist, ready to tap out if necessary though Eames had told him it was easier for him to see rather than the boy to feel.

His other hand grabbed the man's hair, fingers stroking through the short strands and scratching at his scalp. Eames actually _purred_ at this and Arthur felt a ridiculous jolt of pride.

 

“You want me to choke you to release, hm?” Eames asked and Arthur's vision started to go blurry, his lungs aching to take a breath which he wasn't able to inhale.

 

“Or do you want me to slap you in the face? Pull your hair? Bite every inch of your lovely throat?”

 

Arthur's dick swelled even more at those words and he panted soundlessly as he felt his orgasm creeping up. His hips rutted up against the man's thigh feverishly and all he could say was a pathetic little 'oh go~d'.

 

He was so close, so fucking close, just one more thrust, one lost breath. Just one more second-

 

Eames pulled back immediately, his hand and whole body removed from the boy underneath him and Arthur shuddered at the halted orgasm, feeling it crawl back.

He whined and then sobbed, gasping for breath and his hips thrusting against nothing.

 

“You gonna come like that for me, Arthur? Come by just rubbing your cock against your trousers, hm?”

 

“Oh fuck, I can't.” The boy mewled, hazed eyes trying to focus on Eames but not standing the man's bulk, the man's intimidating frame leaning over him.

 

“I want you to come like that.” Eames whispered and Arthur absently noted he went to sit down on the low table next to the sofa, giving him a perfect view of Arthur's complete body.

 

“Eames...” He whined, rolling his hips in every direction to find which granted him with the most friction. And it was difficult, but... it _was_ possible.

 

Eames left him hanging, most likely indulging in how he was panting, wheezing, sweating and flushing and whining.

 

“That's it.” The man whispered with a heavy voice before he reached out a hand and stroked over his stomach towards his chest, making the boy shudder.

He tweaked a nipple, but it was too painful to send Arthur over the edge, nonetheless it did feel wonderful.

 

His whole body seemed to be drawn to Eames' hand, his whole body even turned towards him, lying half on his side to give Eames a better view.

 

The Brit's hand ran up higher, squeezing his throat slightly before his fingers stroked over the boy's panting lips.

 

“Ah yeah...” Arthur whispered before lapping at the pads of Eames' fingers and then groaning as they penetrated his mouth.

Arthur licked and sucked Eames' fingers with such desperation that it seemed as if his life depended on it.

 

“Bloody hell...” Eames whispered, pulling his fingers out and shoving them back in rhythmically, fucking his mouth.

 

Arthur wasn't sure what it was that sent him over the edge. But he was pretty sure it had something to do with hearing Eames curse, hearing he was turning Eames on so much he was cursing in a heavy whisper.

 

He came _hard_. Shooting his load in his pants, his dick over-sensitized by having to rub against fabrics and restraints for over five minutes. The orgasm seemed to get sucked to his core from the tips of his toes and the roots in his scalp, before it cascaded back through his every nerve like fireworks.

 

Arthur hoped the mewling moan wasn't his, but knew it was. Somewhere in the background he could hear Eames groan along with him, his fingers pressing down on the boy's tongue as he came.

 

It was only when the orgasm was rode out and his jaw went slack that he noticed he'd been biting down on the man's fingers. Eames pulled back his hand and Arthur opened his eyes groggily.

 

“Shit. Did I hurt you?”

 

“No.” Was his simple reply before he brushed a hand over Arthur's heaving chest, fingers brushing over pink nipples.

 

“You're a piece of art.” He whispered and Arthur watched Eames watching him. The Brit looked even more debauched than Arthur thought he himself did and it was wonderful to see the man this affected by his scrawny, young body.

 

“You did so good, Arthur.” Eames continued, getting up from the table and pulling Arthur up only to sit down on the sofa himself and pull the boy onto his lap and cradle him against his chest.

 

“How do you feel?” He asked after a couple of minutes of stroking his hair and his back. Arthur knew what this was; aftercare. They'd talked about it and Eames had told him it was a necessity, no excuses.

 

“Fuckin' great.” He muttered drowsily.

 

“No cussing outside of arousal.” Eames teased and Arthur only snuggled up closer to the man, drowning in his warmth and his scent and his voice and his every particle of existence.

Oh he was fucked. He knew... He was completely infatuated with Eames and there was nothing he could do against it.

* * *

 

 

 

Eames brought him home after that, somehow not once mentioning his own arousal. Arthur wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, but it was best to do as he were told and thus he let Eames walk him home.

 

He didn't see the man for a whole week after that, though they texted and called on and off.

 

Arthur saw him again at his sister's birthday party at a local pub. It was odd to be with him and be confronted that what they had indeed was a secret.  
It was weird to see Eames basically ignore him, playing the perfect husband role, never leaving Rebecca's side.

 

Rebecca luckily enough got drunk pretty fast and early on in the evening and she did not notice Arthur's shit-mood unlike their mother did.

After many, long, dreadful hours they finally shoved some tables together in the pub which was almost empty because it was a weeknight, so the twenty-something family members could all sit together and chat loudly.

 

Arthur was bored. His mother and father were busy jabbing each other below the belt, and his uncles and aunt were at least a decade older and had not much in common with a sulkin' (now) twenty-year old.

His sister... well, she was too busy draping herself all over Eames and Arthur knew he was jealous and knew he should not be.

 

Eames seemed to be the only sober one at the party (most likely because he was driving his wife and himself home later on) and he remained his charming, witty if not obnoxious self. Seeing the man in company of Rebecca and out in public brought back the reasoning behind why he'd been so agitated over him before they started doing whatever it was they were doing.

 

Eames was a good actor. He adapted to every situation with suave ease.  
Problem was, Arthur had no idea who the real Eames was, at all.

 

Trying to block out the deafening chatter and seventies music pulsing around him, Arthur just glared at his glass of wine in which he'd been jabbing a straw he'd stolen from an aunt earlier that evening.

 

“Prefer sucking over gulping, Arthur?” Eames' voice rumbled in Arthur's left ear and the boy stirred, eyes widening and teeth digging in the straw he'd been drinking from.  
By the time he looked over his shoulder, Eames had already reached the other side of the table, handing over some cigarettes to an uncle of Arthur.

 

His erection was almost instant and he blamed his young age and well-developed imagination for this.  
Arthur couldn't focus for the rest of the night on anything. He was painfully aware, every single second, of where Eames was in the room or at the table. His ears were only focused on his voice, picking out his rumbling laughter or a distant murmur he could not make out the words of.

 

He played it cool though. He actually managed to not look for the man with his eyes until another hour had passed.  
Of course Eames noticed. It didn't matter that he was in the middle of telling a brilliant joke to Arthur's nephew, his hands moving around wildly and a wide grin on his face.  
He still glanced to his right as if he'd felt Arthur looking at him. The eye contact hardly lasted for a second but seeing those eyes sharpen, narrow because of him, sent a jolt of want down his spine.

 

Arthur was sprouting a case of blue balls as the night progressed, the party not seeming to come to an end even though it was fucking three in the morning.

He simply couldn't take it anymore. His erection wouldn't go away. His dick would soften a bit, but then he'd see Eames stroke the back of his own neck as he listened to someone, or he'd see him gulp from a bottle of water, lips pursed around the top... and Arthur's cock would grow rock-hard within seconds.

 

When Arthur watched the man light another cigarette, large hand with long fingers cupping the lighter's flame, his face lit up orange by the fire in front of him, his lips curled softly around the cylinder, his eyes squinted and his head tilted a bit to the side... his fucking forehead wrinkles as he frowned at the smoke when puffing on the cig... he lost it.

 

“Excuse me.” Arthur muttered to no one in particular, everyone was too busy laughing and babbling drunk stories. He got up from his seat, subtly keeping a hand in front of his groin to hide the hardness straining his jeans into a bulge and made way to the bathroom in the back.

 

Arthur was relieved to note that the room was relatively clean and there was a lack of urine-smell. Thankfully.  
To his left were two sinks, no towels or tissues, and on the farthest wall across him hung a couple of urinals. Arthur wasn't interested in those, though. Instead he turned to the right and disappeared into one of the four cubicles, all four of which were not occupied.

 

He locked the door behind him, grimacing at the cabin hook lock. It was simply a tiny metal hook you flipped down into the tiny loop to its right. Arthur was sure even he himself could break it by shoving a shoulder against the door.

 

No time for testing it out though. Arthur's breathing was heavy, louder than the muffled music and voices outside the public bathroom and he fumbled with his belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants.

 

“Oh fuck.” Arthur groaned the moment his hand shoved itself roughly into his boxer-briefs to grab hold of his rock-hard length. He arched his throat, the back of his head leaning against the -what felt like- cardboard wall of the cubicle, to the right of the toilet-bowl which Arthur refused to use as a seat.

 

He pulled his dick out of his underwear before spitting in his hand and rubbing the leaking head of his erection with his moist palm. It felt like fucking heaven.  
Arthur didn't remember how long he'd been hard, but his dick was blood-red and there was an embarrassing amount of pre-cum staining his underwear from before he'd started milking himself.

 

Eames had drove him nuts for hours without even trying. It was like Arthur was obsessed, sexually, with this creature and he could not help sprouting spontaneous boners whenever within a couple of feet of him.  
He needed to come. There was no way he'd survive this malicious ordeal if he didn't shoot his load within the next minutes. He could not face Eames without coming in his pants or having his balls explode.  
Just the thought of leaving, having to say goodbyes to Rebecca and then to Eames, having to come in contact with Eames without having his dick tired out and milked... well... that could never end well.

 

So Arthur jerked himself off quickly, hard and sloppy. He was panting, every now and then whispering words of encouragement to himself and then begging no one in particular with whined ' _please_ 's.

He was close, so close, before something interrupted him.

 

Arthur paused, holding his breath in fear of someone having come inside without him noticing and not a second after looking at the door, seeing (what looked like) a credit-card sliding through the slit in the door, moving up to flip open the hook lock, Eames was on him.

 

“Jesus fuck-” Arthur gasped before Eames shoved him against the wall and then slammed his lips on his'. Arthur would be disappointed that their first kiss was in a fuckin' public bathroom, but then he couldn't complain about Eames shoving his tongue into his mouth and slapping his hand away in order to jerk him off himself. His own hands gripped the man's broad shoulders, tightly, creasing the fabric of his suit-jacket.

 

Arthur moaned, loud, and Eames bit down on his tongue most likely to warn him to keep quiet.

 

It took an embarrassingly little amount (three tugs) of time before Arthur came in Eames' hand. His orgasm spurting out almost painfully hard, knocking the wind out of him and rolling his eyes back in their sockets.

 

The Brit allowed him to catch his breath, stayed still as Arthur rode out his orgasm in his hand, and his full lips kept sliding over Arthur's.

 

The kiss was lazy and wet and hot. Arthur panted into Eames' mouth and the Brit hummed quietly somewhere low in his throat.

Just when Arthur found enough energy and coherency to start kissing back, Eames pulled away.  
The man lifted Arthur's shirt a bit and wiped his wet hand over the boy's hard stomach and Arthur groaned when he saw Eames squeeze his own erection straining his slacks before shaking his shoulders loose.

 

He obviously was not unaffected by the whole happening.

 

For some reason Arthur knew he shouldn't talk. They were still amongst friends and family, Rebecca was only a room away, they were not alone nor in a trusted environment. Arthur kept quiet, leaning heavily against the wall behind and reveling in how Eames' bulk crowded him in the tiny space.

 

The man checked his own clothes for a second, looking for any mis-traveled drops of sperm before he finally met Arthur's stare.

Arthur flushed even more, his breathing still heavy and his head still light.

 

Eames gently cradled Arthur's flaccid cock, his fingers brushing over his sensitive balls before he squeezed the shaft as he pulled his hand up. Arthur watched, wordlessly, as Eames collected the little sperm left on Arthur's cock between the curve of his thumb and pointer-finger.

 

Arthur's knees wobbled when Eames leered at him, holding his hand in front of him.  
The boy took a shuddering breath before parting his lips and allowing the man to place his hand against his mouth.

 

Arthur's warm lips wrapped around the thin skin between Eames' fingers and suckled the sperm onto his tongue. He groaned. Not because of the taste but because of Eames still staring at him, not saying a word and about the fact that he was being fed his own seed without it having been asked or discussed... There wasn't much discussing to do. Arthur would drink a bottle of Eames or his own spunk if that's what the Brit wanted.

 

But he loved not having a choice... oh fuck did he love this.

 

When Eames' hand was licked clean to the drop, the man patted him on the cheek twice (a bit hard) and threw him a small smirk.

He didn't need to say the words. Arthur knew Eames had just praised him and he felt his heart warm as he watched Eames leave the cubicle, closing the door behind him.  
  
Arthur listened to his footsteps, listened to him washing his hands and whistling a song Arthur did not know but sounded cheerful enough... and it was so absurd he couldn't help but grin widely to himself.

 

The boy returned to the party about five minutes after Eames had, and as expected no one had even noticed his absence nor return.

 

Only half an hour later his mother finally decided to call it a night and they left the party after a couple of handshakes and goodbyes.  
Rebecca kissed him on the same cheek Eames had slapped him and the guilt he felt only spiraled into an exciting puddle of secrecy. He could live with this... he could, honestly.

 

Eames pulled him in a loose hug, dryly wording a 'goodnight'. No one would ever, ever guess what they'd just done in the bathroom only twenty steps away from them all. No one would ever believe there was more to the picture than the eye could tell.  
No one would ever get it in their skull to believe that only four days later Arthur and Eames would be fucking in Rebecca's bed.

* * *

 

 

Arthur and Eames had been screwing around for over about two years now and still the man managed to make Arthur weak to his knees and desire to drop everything in life just to spend an hour in his presence.

 

That's why Eames' news that particular night stabbed Arthur in the heart.

 

“What do you mean we can't do this anymore?” Arthur squawked, staring wide-eyed at the man outside his front door.  
It was the fucking middle of the night and Eames had just rang Arthur's doorbell without a call beforehand. Which had never happened... ever.  
They always made appointments, always discussed every visit, even though Arthur now lived on his own.

 

“Arthur, please.” Eames rasped. His voice was light and broken and Arthur would like to believe it was because perhaps he'd been crying but more likely it was because of the cold weather.  
Arthur eyed the snow on Eames' eyelashes for a second before he zoned back into the conversation.

 

“Arthur I- I can't explain it right now but it's best we stop what we have, alright? Don't make this any harder than it already is, please Darling.”

 

“You're the one making this hard, Eames. What the fuck is wrong? We were fucking a couple of nights ago and everything was fine and now you show up at my door at-” Arthur looked up to his right at the clock against the wall.

 

“Fucking four nineteen in the morning and tell me it's over, just like that, without an explanation?” Arthur shouted. Arthur rarely raised his voice in anger, but he now felt like screaming at the man. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt as if he could pass out any second.  
  
This was the day he'd been fearing from the start.

He wasn't ready, not yet. Please not tonight.

 

“Arthur, it's not that bad, Sweetheart. We've been fooling around for a couple of years, that's it. You can find someone else, yea? Maybe even a boyfriend or girlfriend, hm?” Eames tried and Arthur scoffed.

 

“I don't want a fucking boyfriend or girlfriend and don't fucking tell me that what we've been doing all those years doesn't mean a thing. You yourself said from the beginning that it was based on trust and friendship and respect. Well, what's so respectful about shoving me aside without as much as an explanation, huh?” Eames winced visibly and Arthur knew he'd made some valid points.

 

“Arthur... That's part of the game, innit? You'll have those things again when you find another man to dominate you.”

 

Arthur knew that Eames knew better than that. He knew that Eames as well was aware that what they'd been having was more than just some rough, kinky sex. There had been a lot more to it.

 

“You were my first, you know.” Arthur said and could see Eames freeze as he'd been shuffling his feet. He looked up, standing at the bottom of the three steps that led into Arthur's house.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You were my first, Eames. You were my first kiss with a man, my first blowjob, my first dominant... My first fuck.” Arthur didn't mention the boy's he'd kissed because they had been far from the _man_ Eames was.

 

“I was your first fuck?”

 

“Yes. That night when I let you fuck me on my Rebecca's bed... That was my first time, Eames. So, don't give me that bullshit of this having been a game because I handed you my virginity on the bed of my own fucking sister and your wife.” Eames gaped at him. Literally gaped and Arthur took the time to take a few deep breaths to calm down his panic.

 

“Are you in love with me, Arthur?” The man asked then, his face back to serious, jaws clenched and eyes dark.

Arthur kept quiet and then took a step back in order to close the door.

 

“Go to your wife, Eames.” He muttered before shutting the door in the man's face and walking calmly towards his bedroom.  
It wasn't until he flopped down on his bed, face in his pillow, that the tears started to flood.

 

Arthur cried for hours, not once falling asleep.  
And it was the first time in years he'd felt this lost, angry and alone.

* * *

 

 

Arthur found out why Eames broke up with him only a couple of days later when his mother shouted through the phone that Rebecca was pregnant.

 

Arthur's world sank into a bottomless pit because he knew he'd never have Eames now... not when he'd have a child with the wife he loved.

 

His jealousy and bitterness got so bad that he deleted Eames' number from his phone (though he knew it by heart, it was the thought that counted) and then didn't visit his sister in the hospital when she'd given birth just because he was not ready to see and hear and smell Eames after not having seen or heard him for nearly nine months.

 

Now that he lived alone, his mother could not check on him and Arthur made up the excuse he was home with the flu and couldn't live with the thought he'd infect the baby and make it sick.

The lies should bother him more than they did.  
The cold shoulder to his sister that he'd inevitably began giving after fucking with Eames for about half a year, should bother him much more than it did.

 

But he despised her. He was so jealous of her... and it was so typical of her to steal his happiness. She'd done it from the beginning. Better toys, better friends, better talents, better grades, better education, and now she had the only man Arthur wanted.

 

The resentment crushed their family-bond with ease.

 

But he couldn't hide forever and after having chickened out four times from Rebecca's invites to come visit the three of them... well, he had to go.

 

It was about two months after the birth of Rebecca's daughter Alexandra, Arthur finally did visit them. The baby's name was a combination of their grandfather Alex who passed away years ago but they both had loved dearly and Sandra, who apparently was someone from Eames' side of the family.

 

Seeing Eames again hurt more than he could ever have prepared himself for. They hadn't been in touch whatsoever for eleven months, nearly a fucking _year_ , and still Arthur felt as if he wanted to die at the spot.

 

He could tell right away that Eames was tense, nervous.

 

“Ello, mate.” He rumbled, as usual pulling him into a loose embrace and Arthur wanted to grab him by the shirt and just lose himself in his scent and warmth. He wanted to rub his cheek against the two-day old stubble on Eames' jaw and then he wanted to slap him in the face, twice... at the least.

 

“Hey.” Arthur muttered awkwardly. Eames had already pulled back away, walking inside in that ridiculous strut of his.

 

“God, Artie. You don't look so well, do you?” Rebecca worriedly commented, rubbing his back and making Arthur cringe under the touch. It was odd to have her being genuinely worried rather than being a sarcastic bitch... but then, she was a mother now, she had a family... and that aged someone, right?

 

He knew that truth was he couldn't handle her kind streak because of what he'd done to her.  
But he optioned for denial, just for a little while longer.

 

Arthur sat down in the sofa, relieved and upset that it was a different one. Not the same one Eames had fucked him on numerous times.

Even for him, Arthur knew he was being uncharacteristically quiet and it showed in Rebecca's worried frown.

 

“You sure you alright?”

 

“Yeah, I'm fine. Didn't sleep too well.” Arthur lied. The sleep-part was true though. He'd been tossing and turning all night, forcing back his anxiety for having to meet Eames again.

 

Speaking of the dev- Eames, the Brit walked into the living-room carrying two steaming cups.  
  
“Did you lose weight?” Rebecca asked Arthur, before she smiled at Eames who handed her a cup of tea. Arthur saw Eames glance at him shortly in the corner of his eye.

 

“Could be, yeah. Living alone now, so no more dinners by mom.” Rebecca snorted as she sat down to his right.

 

“Because those were nice.” She commented with dripping sarcasm and Arthur had to agree with her on that one. He forgot what he wanted to say though, because Eames reached out a cup to him and their eyes met shortly.  
Eames' face was unreadable but it felt as if he was looking for some contact... as if he _did_ want Arthur to read something off his face.

 

He sipped from his coffee and grimaced because it was prepared just the way he liked it. Just the way Eames remembered. Lots of cream and a heck-load of sugar.

 

“Alexandra is asleep upstairs, we'll go see her in a minute.” Rebecca said, sipping from her tea and throwing Eames another smile as the man walked around the sofa to sit at Arthur's left... he didn't have a choice. Arthur accidentally had seated himself in the middle of the couch.

 

“So what's new? I haven't seen you in a while.” She asked and Arthur took another sip from the delicious coffee to give himself more time to think about what to say and keep the conversation flowing... to look at least a bit less suspicious as he certainly did now.

 

“Not much... got a job, got a place, maybe gonna get a pet.”

 

“A pet? What kind of pet?” Arthur stirred and awkwardly glanced to his left where Eames apparently awaited his reply with impatient excitement.

 

“Oh dear, you've done it now. Eames, when are you going to get over the fact we're not getting animals?” Rebecca threw back, leaning forward so she could meet his eye past Arthur.

 

“Bullocks. Pets are lovely. They're quite the influence on kids as well.” Eames defended, a slight frown on his face and Arthur noted that he had at least gained one extra forehead wrinkle in the past year.

 

“We're not getting a pet.” Rebecca muttered but leaned back in her seat and allowed the topic to rest.

 

“So, what pet, Arthur?” Arthur looked up from his coffee to his left and meeting his gray eyes, up-close, seeing his face showing interest and focus, his body as well slightly turned to him as far as possible on the crowded sofa.... it made Arthur jolt awake from the haze he'd been in since that morning.

 

It felt wonderful, like an ice-cold cloth on a burning wound, to have Eames interact with him, genuinely.

 

“Uhm, I was thinking of a cat-”

 

Eames barked a laugh, his whole face lit up with laughing wrinkles and the sound punched Arthur in the chest.

 

“Cats. You gotta get a dog, mate.”

 

“I don't really like dogs.” Arthur scowled a bit and he felt an old fire waking up inside him. He was getting annoyed again.

 

“I could've guessed you're a cat-person. No but, seriously, Arthur, hear me out on this one, yea?” Eames began and Arthur nearly spilled his coffee when the man slapped a hand on his shoulder and left it there.

He leaned in a bit closer, his eyes for a moment focusing behind Arthur. Eames cocked an eyebrow at Rebecca and Arthur heard her huff a 'oh for god's sake' behind him.

 

“Right.” Eames said, eyes back on Arthur as he lifted his free hand, pointing a finger up in the air in between them.

 

“Dogs, yea? They're just like men. They're lazy, goofy and always hungry and always up for licking someone's face.” Rebecca groaned and Arthur only experienced a flashback to all the moments Eames had dragged the flat of his tongue over the side of his face in the throes of passion or licking his own cum off Arthur's chin and lips.

He shivered.

 

“So, that's why men love dogs, innit? They're our best friends, stick by our side no matter what. They're bloody angels is what they are. Now... _cats_ are like women.”

 

“I'm done.” Rebecca muttered, getting up from her seat and patting Arthur on his other shoulder as if wanting to wish him good luck.

Eames smirked as he watched his wife disappear into the kitchen and then turned back to Arthur. His left hand had dropped back down, though his right one still rested on Arthur's shoulder.  
His skin was burning underneath the man's palm and Arthur grabbed his cup of coffee with both hands now. He was shaking a bit but tried his best to hide it.

 

Why the fuck was he alone in a room with Eames?!

 

“So... cats...?” Arthur tried, clearing his throat because his voice had sounded a bit too gravely when talking.

 

“Yeah... Cats are like women, Arthur.” His voice was softer, lacking the show-man tone and instead much more similar to the tones Arthur had heard so many times in his ear as they'd lied in bed after hours of fucking.  
His face as well was far more serious and Arthur held his breath.

 

“They're good-looking and elegant. They seduce you with their big eyes alone, curling around your legs and purring all the way through... But that's not how they really are.” Eames' grip tightened a bit and Arthur gulped.

 

“They turn out to be demanding. They do what they want and do not care about what you want. They do not care about you... not one bit. They just suck you in with their beauty and their promising mewls and then you're fucked. You'll get scratched and bitten one day, and the next day it will throw itself in your lap, purring and snuggling... Cats, mate... are fucking confusing and outright selfish cunts.” Eames finished and held Arthur's eyes for a moment longer before he finally pulled back. A second later Rebecca returned in the living room and just before she came within the reach of hearing their voices, Arthur whispered.

 

“You should get a dog, then.”

* * *

 

 

Rebecca took Arthur upstairs after another cup of coffee. Eames didn't speak to him anymore. He wasn't outright ignoring him though and he'd fill in conversation when it ran out between Arthur and Rebecca.

 

Seeing Alexandra tugged at Arthur's heart-strings and the blood-bond he had with his sister seemed to circulate back into his system. How could he hate her? How could he ever hate the woman who'd he'd grown up with? Who had stroked his hair when he'd been crying in bed, beaten up by bullies at school. And she'd mask the bruises for him with her make-up, she'd lie to their parents about what had happened at school. She'd defend him even if it would get her in trouble, which mostly it didn't.

 

All those memories came back to him and as they watched the sleeping baby, Arthur wrapped an arm around his sister's waist and pulled her closer. She rested her head against his shoulder, placing a hand on the one resting above her hip.

 

“I miss you, Arthur. I miss my little brother.”

 

“I know, Rebecca.” He replied, his heart melting when Alexandra stretched and yawned in her sleep.

 

Life was too precious to hold grudges... People were too precious to loathe...

 

“I love you, you know?” She whispered, squeezing his hand.

 

“Don't be so sappy.” Arthur chuckled and it was the first smile in weeks. He did pull her closer and knew she understood his wordless love for her.

 

Re-found guilt for what he'd done to her in the past, gnawed at his stomach once more. But at least he was having a conscience... At least he was sorry for what he'd done, no matter how much in love he still was with her husband.

 

He had to keep in mind that he was not only a brother, but as well an uncle to his sister's child. He could never fuck that over, could he?

* * *

 

 

Five days later Eames called him. Arthur feigned not recognizing the number and picked up with a crude calm.

 

“Arthur speaking.”

 

Eames didn't say anything for a second before he scoffed.

 

“Arthur, it's Eames.”

 

“Eames?” Arthur tried to sound as surprised as possible, but there was a bite lacking in his tone. He wasn't good at faking, but he was the best at distancing himself through voice alone.

 

“You still have my number?” The young man asked, flipping through a magazine on his bed (Playgirl actually).

 

“Yeah, yeah of course I do, Arthur.” Eames' voice was soft and Arthur's tummy flip-flopped.

 

“Why did you call?” There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line and Arthur realized that Eames was walking, outside.

 

“Do you still live in the same house?” He asked, ignoring the question.

 

“Yes?” Arthur carefully answered, sitting up in bed and frowning.

 

“Good. I'll be there in ten.”

 

“What? No! I'm- no, Eames. I'm not even home right now!” Arthur squawked in panic, looking at his clock and noting it was ten in the evening.

 

“Sure you are. Nine minutes.” Before he could say anything, Eames had hung up on him and left Arthur to stare at nothing and replay their conversation five times before he finally understood Eames was coming over.

 

“Shit.” He huffed, getting up and turning off the light in his bedroom, thinking about faking not being home, even though the room didn't have a window.

But five seconds later he changed his mind and dashed to the bathroom, splashing water in his face and trying to comb back his hair but it ended up being more wild than before.

 

“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” Arthur cursed, running back into his bedroom, pulling off his shirt and dressing in a clean one.

 

The doorbell rang and Arthur stopped moving, one foot in his hand as he'd been planning to change pants. Too late for that.

 

Running down the stairs in the dark was a stupid idea because he nearly broke his neck three times and then slammed his hip into the banister when turning the corner too quickly.

 

“Fucking cunt-fag.” He cursed and considered kicking his stairs but decided else-wise when the doorbell rang again.

 

He switched on the hallway light and his pace automatically slowed down when nearing the front door...  
Why was he visiting him? Did something happen? Did he _want_ something to happen? Was he going to try to kick him out of his family's life?

 

He couldn't fake not being home now that the light in the hallway was on and surely seeped out underneath the door.

One hand absently placed on his hurt hip, Arthur reached out his right one to rest on the doorknob.

 

This was it. Something was going to happen and most likely it wouldn't be a good thing. Arthur highly doubted Eames was coming over for a friendly chat at a quarter past ten on a Friday night.

Maybe Rebecca was with him? Yeah, it was weekend after all... right?

 

Arthur unlocked the door after taking a deep breath and then opened it ajar.

 

Eames looked disgustingly good. Skin tanned and his bulk going well with the rough stubble on his tense jawline. He was wearing a double-breasted, black coat, jeans and fancy-looking brown wing-tips. Arthur would've scowled at the mismatch of colors but then... his brain couldn't process anything but positive at that moment.

His hair was slicked down in a side-comb and Arthur immediately was ashamed of his own messy, cloud of untameable black curls.

 

“Can I come in?” Eames asked after a long silence. Arthur might have forgotten to greet him because he'd been too busy ogling.

 

“I don't know, can you?” Arthur teased, but it lacked any amusement. Eames frowned a bit, but he was smirking beneath it and with a hand placed firmly against the door, he pushed in.

 

“Sure I can.” He murmured, glancing at Arthur for a split second as he pushed open the door and walked inside, leaving Arthur behind to cling at the knob as if he'd drop to the floor else wise.

He probably would.

 

“Not much has changed, has there?” Eames commented as he stride farther inside like he owned the place. Arthur felt extremely angry and extremely turned on by this man's arrogance.

 

“Not all of us are rich businessmen capable of renovating their house every other week because they grow tired of their mauve walls.” Arthur grumbled as he closed the door and followed Eames with a suspicious eye and wobbly legs.

 

“Cheeky.” Eames commented but didn't look behind him at the other man.

 

Eames walked inside the kitchen, peeling off his coat on the way and hanging it on the back of a chair. The way his salmon button-up stretched over his shoulders as he bent over to have a look in the fridge, was outrageously obscene.

 

Arthur sat down at the table, carefully, and watched Eames pull out a bottle of white wine before straightening up.

 

“This a good one?” He asked, frowning at the label.

 

“It does its job.” Arthur replied and Eames smirked at him.

 

“You've become quite witty in the past years haven't you?” The man commented and eerily enough found a corkscrew within seconds of rumbling through drawers. He'd been in Arthur's place a lot in the past.

 

“I've only become older and -inevitable with aging- more bitter.” Arthur said, cringing as he watched Eames paw glasses in the cabinet above the sink, in search of wine glasses which he found after nearly knocking over one of Arthur's favorite glasses. (A Hoegaarden Pint he'd gotten from a Belgian friend a long time ago).

 

He didn't like beer, though.

 

“MORE bitter?” Eames asked with shock on his face and he took a moment to seize movement to stare at Arthur as if he'd grown another head.

 

“Goes well with your arrogance which I see has as well grown over the years.” Arthur threw back, folding his hands into fists underneath the table.  
Eames rose both eyebrows at that, before he blinked away and curled his mouth in a curve that said ' _well, can't argue with that_ '.

 

He uncorked the bottle with annoying elegance and filled two glasses before returning to the table and sitting down in the chair across of Arthur.

 

They drank in silence. Eames was slouched in his seat, one hand in his pants-pocket as the other held his glass. He only looked at Arthur whenever taking a sip, leering at him over the rim.

Arthur on the other hand couldn't sit more upright than he was. His back straight, his legs nearly closed completely and his every muscle seemed to be tensed and ready to burst any minute.

 

They finished their drinks quickly, the awkward silence making them finish their drinks faster than necessary. Eames got up and refilled their glasses, this time taking the bottle with him.

 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Arthur asked and held back a smirk because yeah... he had indeed become wittier and more grown-up over the past year. The break-up with Eames had somehow aged him and he felt more sure in his shoes than he had before.

 

“Depends. Is it working?” Eames lazily asked, a lopsided grin on his full lips before he looked away and took another gulp from the glass.

Arthur chuckled quietly.

 

They finished the bottle between them in twenty minutes and Arthur could feel he was blushing because of the alcohol but still coherent enough to not stutter or slur words.

 

“I heard you got a new job. What's it like?” Eames asked, lighting a cigarette with a match and dropping it in his empty glass of wine after a flick of his wrist to kill the flame.

 

“It's better than my last job.” Arthur admitted, leaning back a bit in his seat and trying to ignore how Eames was staring at him non-stop, though his body-language was non-threatening; still slouched and comfortable.

 

“How so?” He asked around the cigarette and Arthur nearly got a stroke watching his full lips move around the cylinder. He didn't hold the cigarette, instead digging both hands in his pants-pockets and just letting it dangle.

 

He oozed sex... somehow.

 

“Well... for starters it requires more brain-mass than that of a squirrel as was the case with my previous job.” Arthur began, crossing his legs to rest an ankle on his knee.

 

“I'm mainly in charge of accounting and there's a likability for me to become the boss' secretary.” Arthur paused because he noted the little smirk on Eames' lips.

 

“Secretary, hm?” He asked, picking the cigarette from between his lips to tap off the ashes in the empty wine-glass.

 

“Lucky boss...” He continued, his voice but a rumble and whereas he'd been looking down at the glass before, Eames' eyes still managed to catch his when he looked at him.

 

“Do you feel uncomfortable?”

 

“A little.” Arthur frowned.

 

“Why's that?” Eames asked, leaning back and waiting patiently for an answer. Arthur hated when people hopped from one subject to the other in conversations and took a moment to calm down his agitation.

 

“Because there's a man in my kitchen who basically busted inside and went ahead to steal my wine and then question my state of comfort after -what seemed to be like- the start of an interrogation.”

 

Eames smiled slightly, just a tick in the corners of his mouth before he sat up and dropped his half-finished cigarette in his glass, the little wine left making the ashes sizzle before it seized to remain lit.

 

“Go stand in the corner over there, facing the wall.” Eames spoke as if he was sharing the weather, his hand vaguely waving at a corner behind Arthur.

 

Arthur snapped his mouth shut, not wanting to trigger this man to be even more rude. And then he questioned himself what he'd do.  
It was obvious now that Eames was initiating a session, a role-play and it was Arthur's decision whether to use the safe-word and end this, disobey and get punished, or obey and have the man take control from the start.

 

Later on Arthur blamed the alcohol for his decision, and then afterwards he blamed the lack of backbone.

 

Eames didn't let go of his eyes, waiting with an unreadable face and after nearly half a minute Arthur got up from his seat. He turned around and walked to the corner Eames had pointed to. Arthur came to a stop when his nose was an inch away from the wall and he pulled his arms behind his back, hand on his wrist, cuffing himself.

 

He could hear Eames light another cig and he knew the man would finish it slowly. He loved to see Arthur squirm, loved to see how long he could obey.

 

Eames did take his time. Finishing a cigarette and then rinsing Arthur's kettle, refilling it with water and putting it on the stove.

 

“Coffee or tea?” Eames asked, not even looking at Arthur as he got cups out of a cabinet.

 

“Tea, please.” Arthur replied quietly. He was still stuck-up enough to not consume caffeine after six o-clock. Tea being the only exception.

 

“Undress.” Eames said coolly, retrieving a glass bowl of sugar from the corner of the counter and then walking towards the fridge, most likely to get milk. Arthur watched Eames for a moment from the corner of his eye, but he didn't dare turn his head and thus instead took a step back and started to undress himself.

 

Once stripped naked, he lied his folded clothes on the counter to his right and then stepped back to the wall, hooking his arms behind him.

Arthur could see Eames leaning on the counter only a couple of feet to his right. He heard the little ticks as the man was texting or inputting something in his phone. His indifference, his disinterest, his patience... the anticipation of when he'd snap... it all turned Arthur on beyond recognition.

 

He was growing hard just because of the atmosphere.

 

The kettle started to whistle and Eames removed it calmly from the stove, pouring the hot water in both cups.

 

“How many sugars?”

 

“Two, please.”

 

“Cream?”

 

“No, thank you.” Arthur's voice was shaky and he knew Eames could hear it, _recognize_ it.

 

Eames prepared his tea. The clinks of the spoon against china as he stirred the tea, was loud in the thick silence.  
Arthur saw Eames leave with one cup, disappearing out of his peripheral vision. He heard him place it on the table and was pretty sure it wasn't his cup.

The Brit returned to the counter, taking the second cup and walked towards Arthur, who in his turn stiffened and straightened up, holding his breath.

Eames bent over, placing the cup on the floor before walking back to the table.

 

Arthur swallowed a moan.

 

“Turn around.” Eames said, his voice soft and raspy. Arthur obeyed, turning around and knowing better than to cup himself.

Eames was sitting on the same chair, his ankle resting on his knee, one hand in a pocket and the other holding the cup to his full lips.  
His eyes were dark and sharp, completely focused on Arthur.

 

“Down.” He ordered and his eyes followed Arthur who sunk down onto his knees on the hard tiles of the kitchen floor. Arthur's hands were still behind his back and knew this was a basic rule in 'games' such as these.

 

Eames took a moment to enjoy the view, his eyes rolling up and down Arthur's pale body whilst he sipped gingerly from the cup. His hand looked ridiculously massive, holding the small china.

As he looked down, Arthur accepted that there was no way out because Eames certainly would note that the thickness of Arthur's cock would not have been present if it hadn't been for his arousal.  
He wasn't hard, not yet, but swollen all the more.

 

“Go ahead and enjoy your cuppa, Arthur.” He whispered patiently and Arthur's hands trembled as he took the cup of tea in both of his hands, not trusting to hold it by the ear and instead wrapping all his fingers around it, cradling it.

 

They drank their tea in silence and another fifteen minutes passed by. Arthur's cock only growing as time went by.

 

“Rinse the cups.” Eames smiled coldly and Arthur carefully got up from the floor, trying not to groan when his legs could stretch again, knees red and aching because of the hard and cold floor.

 

Arthur rinsed both their cups in the sink, blushing because his back was turned to the table and he knew Eames was observing every inch of his body. When he finished he dried his hands and then dropped them to his side.  
Of course Eames noticed he'd finished his job and he knew it was now Arthur's task to await further guidance. He was a very observatory man.

 

“Come.” Eames lightly commanded, scooting back his chair and pointing to the floor in between his legs and the table. Arthur went to stand where demanded and he had to take a deep breath to hold down the urge to lose himself in the man's scent.

 

“Turn and bend over the table, hands on your back.” Arthur bit back a groan and going by how Eames' eyes narrowed slightly, the man had noticed the stifled sound. The young man did turn and as he bent over the table he hissed at the coldness of the polished wood against his hot skin.

Locking his hands behind his back was a bit uncomfortable because of the hard surface underneath him, but it was all worth it... _so worth it_.

 

Arthur watched his breath fanning out over the table-top, his right cheek tingling because of the coldness. And he waited... all he could do was wait.

 

Eames adjusted his seat, scooting it over the floor and Arthur let out a low breath when he could feel the insides of Eames' knees, rest against the outsides of his own. He was close... so close and Arthur couldn't see a thing.

 

“Still shaving, I see.” He murmured. Even with the complete lack of sexual partners, Arthur still shaved himself everywhere but for the patch of pubes above his cock, which he did trim and kept neat. But other than that, going from his balls to his asshole and every inch of skin close-by; he shaved.

It was a habit taught to him by Eames and taken along even after they'd separated.

 

It was the anticipation that fired up Arthur's libido. It was the fact he couldn't see Eames but knew his hands or mouth could touch him any moment in any way he'd want and he'd never be prepared for it simply because he couldn't predict, couldn't watch and brace himself.

 

It took another long minute before Eames finally stroked a gentle, warm finger down the cleft of his ass. Arthur twitched, biting back a yelp and his knees trembled by the touch. It had been so long... he'd been fantasizing about him for so long...

 

“Not a sound, Arthur.” Eames coolly shared before his thumb brushed up his cleft and Arthur took a shuddering breath.

 

“You're bad at keeping quiet, aren't you?” He asked and Arthur nodded, cheek sliding over the polished wood of the table.

 

“But just try, hm?” Arthur nodded once more and his whole body tensed when Eames planted both hands on his cheeks, parting them slowly but with some force.  
Arthur huffed out a breath, salivating with arousal as Eames' dry thumbs massaged his pucker, never nudging inside, but nonetheless hinting to, _threatening_ to.

 

And then the man buried his face there. His nose and lips against his ass and Arthur bit his tongue to hold back a whine because he could feel the man's exhale on his hole and then heard and felt him inhale deeply, smelling him in the most intimate place of his body.

 

“Ah... You smell just like I remember... if not better.” Eames murmured, lips moving over his ass as they formed the words.

And then he kissed him. Arthur jumped, shoving his pelvis against the table which scooted forwards by the force.

 

“Oh, that's not going to work, is it?” Eames pouted before letting go of his ass and instead taking Arthur's hands.

 

“Hold yourself open.” He commanded and Arthur moaned quietly as he did was he was told, spreading his ass-cheeks and baring his hole. Eames scooted his chair closer, legs tight against Arthur's. The man's hands grabbed the fronts of Arthur's thighs, just below his hips, holding him in place.

 

“I'll ignore that little moan. But no more sounds, Darling.”

 

Before Arthur could process the words he was biting his lip because Eames swapped his tongue over his hole. The touch was so intimate, the place so sensitive, that Arthur's dick finally reached it's max-hardness. He would start leaking in no time.

 

Eames licked at him again. His tongue was hot and wet, and Arthur loved how he'd use the flat of it rather than point and swirl it like he'd seen in porn-movies. And Eames could do it for hours if his jaw would let him and if Arthur would be able to take it.  
They'd tried, and both had failed after half an hour of the best rimming Arthur had ever imagined possible to exist.

 

But Eames loved doing this and it rarely happened he'd only do it for a minute. When Eames rimmed, he rimmed proper and he'd spent just long enough for Arthur's knees to give out, for his voice to break into begging whimpers, and his hole to relax and take in three fingers at once with no effort at all.

 

Oh, Arthur had fucking missed this.  
He'd been so ashamed when they'd first done it, but he recalled how patient and kind Eames had been. The Brit had made sure he was feeling at ease, was fully relaxed, before he finally had begun.

 

It took Eames only a few seconds before he lost himself, and Arthur choked on his own breath when he heard the man's deep groans as he _made out_ with his asshole. And it _was_ making out... He used his lips and tongue like he kissed.

 

Arthur's fingers started to slip as Eames' saliva spread out because he dug his face between Arthur's cheeks. It felt like he was being devoured in the best sense of the word. His stubble only added to the pleasure, a sting amongst the slick heat.

 

When Eames finally pressed inside, tongue swirled in his hole, Arthur cursed out loud in a low, whining 'fuuuuuck'.

Before he realized what he'd done, Eames had pulled away and slapped a hand on his ass so hard the boy yelped. The sting was immediate and he could feel the patch heating up, most likely a hand-shaped mark left on his right cheek.

Eames slapped him once more for the yelp and Arthur just in time bit back the pained shout.

 

Further punishment followed in the lack of attention and Arthur breathed heavily, polished wood damp because of his exhales. He could only wait it out. Could only lie there on the table, knees weak and his fingers still keeping his cheeks spread, knowing Eames was still sitting right behind him, his mouth inches away.

 

And then it struck him. He was impatient and rock-hard and wanted everything to move along. He wanted to cum.  
He should play the unwilling victim role... It was their cue to start fucking like animals, raw and hard and brutal.  
It worked nine times out of ten.

 

Arthur took a shuddering breath and then peeked over his shoulder at Eames who was still sitting behind him, albeit leaned back and enjoying the view.

Their eyes met and the Brit raised a questioning eye-brow.

 

“I-I don't want this...” Arthur whimpered and his own dick jumped at the promise his words would cause.

 

“It's not yours to decide what I give you.” Eames spoke.

 

When Arthur retreated his hands without the man's consent, he could see Eames' jaws clench and nostrils flare.  
Oh _fuck_... yes. That's it.

 

He carefully pushed himself off the table, his legs trembling as he turned around to face the man behind him. Eames' eyes dropped low for a second, looking at Arthur's erection, standing proudly upright and bumping every now and then.

 

“I don't want this, please. I want to go home.” Arthur whispered and he didn't even need to fake the tears that trembled at the corners of his eyes. He was turned on beyond his pain-limit and he'd cry if he wouldn't come soon.

Saying that he wanted 'to go home' even though he actually was at home, was also a green light for Eames, letting the man know Arthur was indeed in his role and had not forgotten their safe-word.

 

“But what's this then?” Eames frowned comically, reaching out to grab Arthur's erection. Arthur yelped, drawing up a leg as he slapped the man's hand away from him.  
Eames looked up at him then, glaring, the anger on his face seeming so genuine it never seized to scare Arthur even in their roles and games.

 

“D-don't touch me. I-I'm going home. Please leave me alone.” Arthur's voice trembled and he watched the predatory gleam in the man's eyes as he awkwardly stepped over one of his legs which still caged him in.

When he wanted to pull his second leg over the man's lap, Eames grabbed his ankle, stopping him.

 

Arthur's breath stuttered to a halt and he planted a hand on the table to not fall over.

 

“I don't want to leave you alone.” Eames murmured, starting to get up from his seat. Arthur whimpered and tugged his leg, but the grip on his ankle did not seize its power.

 

“P-please, sir...”

 

“Tut tut, none of that...” Eames smiled his coldest smile, with eyes ready to shoot his brains out if they'd been bullets.

 

“Let me go!” Arthur shouted, tugging harder and harder until finally Eames let go and he dropped onto the floor.

 

“Oh poor little thing...” Eames sighed with a mock sadness on his face. He towered over Arthur, standing over him, each foot beside a hip.

 

As he eyed him over his shoulder, trying not to rub his erection against the fucking tiles on the floor, Eames nudged the side of his ass with the toe of his shoe.

 

“Tell you what.” He began, before squatting down over him, resting elbows on his knees. He reached a hand out and Arthur winced even before the man grabbed a fistful of his hair. He pulled his head up in a painful arch.

 

“I'll give you a three count head-start to reach the front door and escape.”

 

“W-what?” Arthur asked dumbly, eyes wide. Eames just smiled without emotion, pulling his hand back away from his hair and standing up.

 

“Three...” He drawled and Arthur's heart skipped several beats before he scrambled up and started to run.

 

The excitement was as real as it got. His heart pounded and his every nerve tickled at the edges. His breathing was labored and his mind... oh god his mind. It begged of him to reach that fucking front door before Eames got a hold of him and would fuck him up.

 

He ran out of the kitchen, through the adjoined living-room and fumbling with the door that led into the hallway. He could hear Eames reach his 'one' count and then heard his shoes tap on the tiles as he went after him with a firm pace which was all but hurried but neither stalling.

 

“Shit shit shit shit.” Arthur cursed as he looked over his shoulder and saw Eames turning the corner. His stride was powerful, the bulk of his body, the hunched shoulders, the dark eyes... It only promised big fuckin' trouble if he got a hold of him.

 

Arthur shoved the door open with his shoulder (it had always been a tough one and it needed to be replaced) and dashed into the hallway.  
  
Of course he'd locked the front-door and with trembling hands he turned the key which still stuck in the lock. And then Eames reached his destination.

 

“Too late, Sweetheart.” He murmured into his ear, arms wrapped loosely around his chest.

 

“Please don't hurt me!” Arthur begged as he turned in the man's arms, but Eames would have none of that and instead of going easy on him, he grabbed his hair, twisting his wrist and then dragged him back.

 

Arthur shouted, tears now rolling down his cheeks because fuck, that hurt. Both his hands held Eames' wrist and fist and the lack of balance (alongside his kicking around) made Arthur trip over his own feet various times as the Brit dragged him through the house.

 

Contrary to what Arthur believed, Eames did not take it to the bedroom and instead shoved him face first into a wall in the living room. The hand holding his hair had made sure to keep it tipped back in order to not smash his face against the wall, but the rest of his body impacted hard, especially with the bulk of the man crushing him from behind.

 

Arthur coughed on a broken breath and begged Eames in a higher-voice than was his own, to please not hurt him, to please leave him alone.

 

Eames leaned in and then bit down in his shoulder, in the curve that met with the neck. The pain was real and sharp, jolting through his arousal and then only making his dick pulse pre-cum against the wall.

 

“If I hear one more fuckin' word coming out of that filthy mouth of yours, I will bloody _ruin_ you.” Nothing was quite as scary as Eames' angry voice. His voice literally changed when he hissed or shouted in anger, carrying more rasp, more venom and an octave lower than normal.

 

Arthur snapped his mouth shut, instead sobbing and whimpering as Eames held a firm grip on his hair. His own hands were planted against the wall, flanking his face, having ended up there when trying to protect himself from being shoved into the wall.

Eames' other hand slid down his side, over his ribs and Arthur curled away from his touch as if he was disgusted by him.

 

“P-please.” Arthur sobbed and the word earned him a shove and a hard smack on his ass.  
Eames was an expert when it came to pinning people. The contours and placement of his limbs were even now too confusing and complex to explain, but the man used every inch of himself and Arthur knew he couldn't get out even if he'd want to... the realization made his dick twitch and his breathing stutter.

 

As Eames scraped teeth over the bite he'd planted in his shoulder earlier, his free hand's fingers nudged between Arthur's cheeks and the latter flattened himself against the wall, trying to pull away from him.

 

It only angered Eames and without warning he shoved two fingers inside him. Arthur shouted, squeezing his eyes shut and then gritting his teeth in genuine pain. He hadn't been fucked in almost a year and except for fingering himself every now and then, there was no prep done.

 

Eames' saliva from earlier had dried up a while ago and Arthur reveled in the pain of those thick, dry fingers fucking his hole. The pain only added to reality and the more real this seemed, the easier it was for Arthur to get off.

 

There had been a time he'd felt troubled by this.  
But Eames had spent hours talking to him about it and well... consensual non-consent was a fucking god-sent.

 

“Please stop... it hurts! _Please_.” Arthur whined and Eames only chuckled in his ear, using his whole body to fuck his fingers deeper inside him. And then as he curled them; that was it.

 

“Oh fuck!” Arthur shouted, arching his whole body as Eames rubbed his prostate almost painfully hard.

 

“There you go... You fucking love this, don't you?” Eames rumbled into his ear before licking the shell of it in one sloppy slide.

 

“Oh god, it hurts, it hurts.” Arthur groaned even though the sting could not overpower the jolts of pleasure Eames' fingers were shooting through his system.

 

“You gonna cum just like this, hm? Rub one off against a bloody wall. Fuck, look at you... you don't even need my dick, do you? You're just gonna cum on my fingers like a little slut.” Eames' voice was broken and Arthur felt the man's clothed erection rubbing hard against the side of his ass.

When Eames pulled out his fingers Arthur whined but then just choked on the sound when he shoved three fingers inside of him at once.

 

“Oh god yes! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Arthur's voice became louder and louder, nearly overpowering Eames' grunts and praises.  
And just like he said, Arthur did come against his own wall, staining the wall-paper beyond repair.

His hole clenched down on the man's fingers and Eames hissed at the sensation, fucking him through his orgasm with strokes that went slower and slower as Arthur's seed spilled.

 

The climax was deafening, and devouring. All of Arthur's senses seized to exist for two seconds, he was sure even his heart had stopped beating for a moment. And then he collapsed heavily against the wall, his arms dropping down and his body wanting to slump.

 

Eames kept him up though, wrapping an arm around his waist and unzipping his pants.

Arthur moaned quietly as he listened to Eames jerking himself off behind him, listened to his little bitten back whimpers which you wouldn't even notice were you not straining to hear them.  
  
The Brit came only a few seconds later, groaning Arthur's name as if it was a curse, and spilling his seed on the boy's ass.

 

Arthur smiled as Eames rode out his orgasm against his ass, his dick sliding up his crack, spreading the semen around his hole.  
The man shuddered, panting and resting his sweaty forehead against the nape of the boy's neck.

 

“Bloody fuckin' hell, Arthur...” He whispered breathlessly and Arthur hummed in agreement.

 

Yeah... this was worth it all.

* * *

 

 

Well, after that they started fucking again. Monthly, weekly, a particular week in March they'd met up four days out of seven.

 

Arthur felt blissed out. His happiness only got a kick in the guts whenever he'd meet up with Rebecca and his niece Alexandra, but then days later when Eames was plowing his ass... he forgot about everything.

 

About five months later, Eames spent the night for the first time, ever.

 

“Do you mind?” Eames murmured against the little bone of Arthur's spine just below his neck. It was one of the Brit's favorite places on Arthur's body. He enjoyed kissing it when in a mellow mood.

 

“Mind what?” Arthur asked, groggy in the after-haze of sex. Their bodies were hot, sweaty and soiled with semen and lube, yet they still spooned on the bed, blanket pulled up to their chins.

 

“If I sleep here tonight? Rebecca got home earlier so it's best I arrive home at a more humane hour than four in the morning.

 

Arthur grimaced as he mentioned her but he still rested his hands on top of Eames' which were resting on his stomach.

 

“No. It's okay.” Arthur replied. Eames hummed as he nuzzled the sweat-moist strands of hair at the base of Arthur's neck.

 

“Do you remember that night we stopped doing this?”

 

Arthur stirred and Eames kissed him on the nape of the neck, most certainly having felt him stiffen in his arms and soothing him. Arthur though was fearful of why he was bringing this up. Did he want to part ways again?

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do you remember the last thing I said before we parted for the following eleven months?” Eames asked, leaning up a bit and planting kisses on the side of Arthur's throat, knowing damn fucking well it drove him nuts.

Arthur arched his neck and groaned quietly.

 

“No...” He whispered, distracted by the man's warm, soft lips on his pulse.

 

“I asked you something and you didn't answer... just closed the door in my face... and I've been wondering about the answer ever since.”

 

Arthur remembered it immediately. Remembered the snow on Eames' hair and eye-lashes. Remembered how he'd asked the question with a worried frown on his face. Oh, he fucking remembered the night Eames had broken his heart, alright.

 

“Eames, what's your-” Arthur began, wanting to sit up but Eames hugged him closer and shushed him.

He brought up a hand, stroking Arthur's hair, locking strands behind his out-sticking ear before deciding else wise and instead planting a kiss behind the shell.

 

“I want to know, Arthur.” Eames murmured into his ear before nibbling the lobe and nudging his growing erection against Arthur's naked ass.  
They'd finished fucking not even half an hour ago... Eames' stamina was impressive.

 

“Tell me...” He whispered, licking a line up Arthur's throat before rolling him slowly onto his back.  
Arthur's heart was pounding. His hormones wanted to accept Eames' distraction tactics, but his mind set of alarm bells and screamed for him to keep his head in the fucking game; _Arthur, for fuck's sake!_

 

“I need to know, Darling.” Eames patiently added, moving down over his pale body, licking nipples, nibbling collarbones, stroking ribs, playing all Arthur's soft- and hot-spots.

 

By the time Arthur's hips started restlessly rutting against Eames' hairy thigh, the latter leaned back up and pulled Arthur into an embrace as they rolled onto their sides.

Arthur sighed in the man's chest, melting in his soft touches. Enjoying how he stroked his hair, played with his ear, swiped his hand up and down his back and occasionally squeezing his ass to press him closer to him.  
They were both hard again, not fully, but enough to get things going.

 

Eames kissed him breathless and Arthur held on for dear life, nails digging in his shoulders. The Brit's hands held Arthur's face, stroking his cheekbones as he licked into his mouth slowly, lazily and so fucking sensually it drove him mad.

 

“Tell me...” Eames whispered when he pulled back and Arthur was too busy humping Eames' muscular thigh to pay attention. The Brit brushed his lips over Arthur's face, panting along with him and licking his lips every now and then.

 

“Are you gonna come for me again, Darling?” He rasped and Arthur moaned, hoping he understood the 'yes' in the sound.

 

“I want an answer first, though.” Eames whispered and then pushed against Arthur's hip, pulling his thigh a bit away from him and ending his session of leg-humping.

 

“Fuck, Eames, what's your problem?” Arthur whined, nipping at the man's lips.

 

“You need to answer me, Arthur.” Eames spoke firmly this time. Though his eyes were dark with lust, he had grabbed a hold of Arthur's chin and kept their gazes locked.

 

“Answer what? Eames, I don't want to play games, just let me get off, please.” Eames tutted when Arthur leaned in to kiss him, grabbing his chin a bit more firmly and keeping him back.

 

“What I asked back then, _years_ ago.”

 

Arthur's brain clicked back in place and he remembered now what they'd been talking about before Eames had distracted him.

 

“Are you in love with me, Arthur?”

 

Arthur's mind seized to exist for a moment. His ears were ringing and his lungs collapsed and all he could do was just stare at him... Stare at this man he was most definitely in love with but could never have... Not completely.

 

“That's a fucking ridiculous question, Eames.” Arthur grimly noted, trying to pull away but Eames held him in place.

 

“Answer it.” Eames' face was unreadable. Only determination lingering in his gray eyes.

 

Arthur sighed, disguising fear with annoyance.

 

“No, Eames. I'm not. I'm perfectly aware this is nothing more than a friendship with benefits thing and I thought you knew this as well.” Offense was the best defense and Arthur faked irritation as he pulled Eames' hand away and turned around.

 

A heavy silence followed and Arthur could feel Eames staring at him. After a couple of minutes the Brit got up and Arthur's heart cringed when he heard him getting dressed, leaving his bedroom without saying another word.

 

The front-door slammed shut after a minute, making the frames on the walls rattle.

 

Arthur didn't know why Eames reacted this way... perhaps he hadn't believed him. Perhaps he'd seen the lie in his eyes and had decided to flee.  
There was no other explanation.

 

Arthur bit back any emotion that wanted to overwhelm him and though he didn't close an eye that night, he succeeded to not shed a single tear over Eames.

* * *

 

 

It was Arthur's pride that prevented him to contact Eames after that night.

Eames didn't contact him and Arthur was too fucking proud to take the first step.

 

So they didn't see each other again for months and this time Arthur made sure to visit his sister and cousin at times when he was certain Eames was working and not at their place.

The plan went smoothly like this. Arthur succeeded in avoiding the man for three months straight and then grocery shopping fucked it up.

 

Arthur still cringed at the memory.

 

Rebecca and Arthur lived fairly close to one another, but grocery shopping were mostly done at different shops. Whereas Arthur preferred to spend his well-earned money on cheap (yet healthy) food, Rebecca and Eames enjoyed their overpriced 'posh' dishes.

 

Arthur had not expected to bump into them in the sleazy supermarket down the corner.

 

He had just processed the image of Rebecca, Alexandra and Eames looking lost in the candy aisle, when he wanted to turn on his heels and run like a criminal before Rebecca called out.

 

“Artie, hey!” Arthur paused in his steps, groaning and taking a moment to wipe a smile on his face before he turned around and walked down the aisle towards them.

 

Alexandra immediately extended a chubby hand, sputtering random noises, her face already sprouting Eames-like features even though she wasn't older than a year.

 

“Hey Alex. You've gotten big, haven't you?” Arthur smiled, pinching her chubby cheeks and watching her eyes widen in awe because she always recognized uncle Arthur's frowny face and it made her laugh each time. Rebecca handed her over and Arthur cradled her carefully.

 

“Love the hair, Arthur. You finally look like a man now.” Rebecca grinned, reaching out to touch his carefully slicked back pomade. Arthur swatted her hand away as Alexandra clumsily stroked little fingers over his chin.

 

“What're you doing in the town's reject-supermarket?” Arthur asked, quirking an eyebrow. Alexandra was busy playing with his out-sticking ear. In the meanwhile he ignored Eames fully, though he could feel him stare.

 

“We went shopping already but they were out of quinoa.” She replied, absently stroking a hand over her daughter's blonde hair.

 

“They haven't got it as far as I know. I have to go to your kind of supermarket to buy it.” Arthur remarked dryly before handing over Alexandra to his sister.

 

“Arthur, you may look like a man but you're still a brat.” She laughed before getting distracted by Alexandra who reached out to the shelve beside them.

 

“Men can be brats too.” Arthur commented with a bitter tone to his voice and couldn't help to glance at Eames. The Brit raised one eyebrow, but Arthur just tensed his jaw and looked back away.

 

“Anyways, I gotta go.” Arthur apologized, taking a step backwards.

 

“Oh, oh, don't you want to come over? I'm making fancy dinner and I'd love your help on some planning for the B. D. A. Y.” Rebecca whispered conspiratorially as she tilted her head to her daughter who still was busy trying to reach an upper shelve even though her mother's arm kept her away from it.  
As if Alex even grasped the English language.

 

Arthur stiffened.

 

“I'm sorry, I really ca-”

 

“Oh bloody hell, the kid turns one only once in her life, _uncle_ Arthur.” Eames scoffed with irritation and even Rebecca was surprised by his words.

Eames grimaced visibly when an awkward silence stretched on.

 

“Stress at work. I'll head home.” He muttered, pecking Rebecca on the cheek and ruffling Alexandra's hair before walking away without once acknowledging Arthur.

 

Arthur and Rebecca looked at one another for a second. He hadn't seen Eames in a bad mood around his wife ever before. He seemed out of character.

 

“He's in a shit-mood lately. He got a higher position in the company and nearly works all day and night. Don't mind him, if you're busy I won't hold you up.” She smiled at him and Eames could see the sadness in her eyes, in the wrinkles around them, in the corners of her mouth.

 

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, his brotherly instinct taking the rise over his own issues.

 

“Yeah, I'm fine.” She smiled but her eyes were watery.

 

“Rebecca... If I can help you with anything, if you want to talk with me... please know I'm here for you, alright?” Arthur spoke calmly though he felt a bit panicky, he rested a hand on her shoulder.

 

“I know.” She said, her voice shaking and her smile trembling.

 

“Thanks.” She added and Arthur pulled her in a hug, careful to not squish Alexandra between them.

 

“Do you want me to come along?”

 

“Oh no, do what you have to do, Arthur. Don't worry about it, it was just a suggestion.”

 

“No, no, I can come if you want.” Arthur urged, following his gut feeling which now told him to care for his sister.

 

“I don't know... Eames is a bit grumpy today and-”

 

“Well, Eames just has to suck it up then, don't he?” Arthur's voice held a bit more anger than he'd intended to, but he was sure Rebecca would not grow suspicious over this tiny slip.

 

When Rebecca didn't reply, obviously still hesitating, Arthur pulled a funny face at her which made Alexandra squeal happily and clap her hands. Rebecca smirked slightly, recognizing the face from when they'd been much younger and had been making fun of family-members at family-parties, pulling faces behind people's backs.

 

“Yeah, alright... Thanks, Artie.”

 

“No problem, sis.” Arthur mumbled, rubbing her once more on the back as they exited the store without items.

 

He wasn't sure why Rebecca was hurt, was sensitive, was fragile... but he knew he hadn't seen her like this in years and that something ought to be off.  
His instincts led him to Eames, and he was sure it had something to do with the Brit yet did not yet know what exactly.

* * *

 

 

Once they arrived at her place, Rebecca dumped Alexandra in his arms and she never stopped sputtering high-pitched sounds while observing Arthur as if he was the most interesting toy she'd ever seen.

 

As the baby suckled on an unfortunately-colored stuffed animal (fuckin' green with yellow-dots horses. Why) Arthur noted the presence of Eames in the kitchen to his right.  
He was talking to Rebecca who nodded as he talked, her eyes down and her mouth grim.

 

Arthur squatted down, letting Alexandra crawl around with excited mewls and squawks. His attention though was focused to his right, looking inside the kitchen and trying to eavesdrop on their conversation... which was impossible because they were both whispering.

 

He didn't look away until he saw Eames rub her arm, his face looking pained and he then pulled her into his arms, kissing the crown of her head.

 

Whatever the fight had been about, it currently had been solved and Arthur rose with arms full of loud baby and walked into the kitchen.

 

Eames and Rebecca parted and his sister laughed as she saw Arthur delved in infant-attention. He did see her wipe away a few stray tears but he also noted Eames squeezing her shoulder before he turned to the counter and took out some pots and pans from the bottom-cabinet.

 

Alexandra was a lovely baby and as far as he could tell, Rebecca and Eames were lucky with such a well-mannered child who had yet to scream or cry in Arthur's presence.  
Then again Rebecca told him that she was rather smitten over her uncle, hence her splendid behavior.

 

They had dinner prepared by Eames, everything made fresh and absolutely tasty. Alexandra refused to be taken from Arthur's arms and the man maneuvered awkwardly to eat his meal, smiling at his sister's apologetic glances.

 

The conversation flowed easily. Though Eames was more quiet than he remembered him to be. Then again, he must be feeling awkward seeing him again after having walked away from him without a single fucking word three months ago.  
Arthur was getting too old for this shit. He was frickin' twenty-three years old now.

 

Arthur was over it. He didn't care anymore... not much.

 

Alexandra whined all of the sudden and Arthur looked down as she rubbed her eyes before stretching her arms towards Eames across the table, opening and closing her hands.

 

Eames raised his eyebrows at his daughter, pulling a face that made her laugh, albeit it was poor giggle interrupted by a yawn.

 

“I'll put her to bed.” Eames said to his wife, before scooting back his chair and getting up.

 

Arthur panicked below the surface of his cool exterior as he watched Eames round the table.

Handing over a sleepy baby was a bit awkward, especially with a man you'd been cheating with for over four years on and off.

 

“Arthur, come along. We renovated her bedroom a bit.” Arthur was busy drinking from his glass of water and he eyed Rebecca who didn't seem to pay them much attention, instead starting to clean the table.

 

“We got tired of the mauve.” Eames muttered with an unimpressed face and Arthur choked on his drink because he recalled having mocked him about that in the past.

 

Arthur scraped his throat, not knowing what the fuck he was plotting, and got up to follow Eames upstairs.  
By the time they reached the top of the flight, Alexandra was passed out, slumped over Eames' broad shoulder.

 

Her bedroom had indeed been renovated a bit and Arthur paced through the pink room as Eames put his daughter to bed.

 

“So, how've you been?” Eames asked and Arthur looked over his shoulder to see him leaning against Alex' white crib.

 

“Good.” Arthur replied without much intonation in his voice, turning back around to watch the princess-stickers on the wall with great interest.

 

“I haven't.” Arthur stirred at that and he took a deep breath before turning around to face the man who stood a couple of feet away from him.

 

“What's your point, Eames?” Arthur sighed, hoping this wasn't another make-up. He was so done with Eames... he wouldn't allow the same man to hurt him another time... He'd done it twice already.

 

“She caught me cheating, you know.”

 

Arthur's stomach dropped and he blinked rapidly.

 

“No.” Eames whispered, knowing that Arthur was thinking she'd found out about them.

 

“With a friend of hers. A woman... one time thing, it was... Ironically enough she found out about that _one_ time rather than our years-long affair.” Eames grimaced for a second, looking out the window to his left.

 

“When?” Arthur asked, pacing closer until he leaned against the wall next to the window.

 

“Hm, few months ago. I think it was a couple of days after... you know... what happened between us.” Eames vaguely spoke, waving a hand in between them before crossing his arms.

 

It hurt Arthur to know Eames had fooled around with another woman than his sister... and it wasn't just because of Rebecca.

 

“Are you divorcing?” Arthur frowned.

 

“God no... I'm not a quitter. We got a daughter, so... that changes everything, donnit?” Eames' eyes were shifty when they met Arthur's. He looked very uncertain of his own words.

 

“Why'd you do it?”

 

“Arthur... I did it before, didn't I?” He smiled stiffly, eying Arthur's lips for a second, most likely recalling some sexual acts they'd feasted upon with one another, before looking back out of the window.

 

“I didn't think you'd do a... one time thing. I thought _we_ did it because of-... well, the friendship and trust and shit... Didn't think you'd just fuck around to fuck around.” Arthur spoke softly and watched Eames scratch the back of his head. His hair was shorter.

 

“Yeah well, it was a mistake... with her.”

 

“It wasn't with us?” Arthur asked with a condescending tone.

 

Eames smiled vaguely, digging hands in his pockets before meeting Arthur's eyes.

 

“Not us. Never us.”

 

“Cheating is cheating, Eames.” Arthur muttered, pushing off the wall and pacing towards the door to go back downstairs.

 

“It didn't feel like cheating when it was with you.” His voice was raspy and quiet and Arthur couldn't help to pause and look over his shoulder at the man who was still staring out of the window. He was chewing on his bottom-lip, one of the only signs with Eames you could see he was nervous.

 

“I don't want to do this ever again, Eames. The games, the fucking, the betrayal, the second-place.” Eames stirred a bit.

 

“Rebecca doesn't deserve it, Alexandra doesn't deserve it and even I don't deserve it.” Arthur whispered, watching Eames nodding absently, his eyes dark as he stared at nothing, sucking his bottom-lip between his teeth.

 

“It wasn't supposed to be this complicated... not with the rules we made, _you_ made.” Arthur continued.

 

Eames snorted.

 

“It was never easy, Arthur. It wasn't easy to admit to yourself you weren't able to forget about a lanky-limbed, nineteen-year old brat. It sure as hell wasn't easy to love a woman and be in love with a boy at the same time.”

 

Arthur's heart skipped a beat.

Had he heard that right?

 

When the silence stretched, Eames blinked and looked to his right at Arthur.

 

“What?” He frowned, seemingly not having noticed what he just had said.

 

“You're in love with me?” Arthur asked, his voice barely loud enough to catch.  
Eames blinked a couple of times, seemingly now remembering what he'd said. He turned back to look out the window and Arthur watched him biting his nails (something he had never seen Eames do).

 

“Yea, of course.” He replied, his body language dismissing the conversation... not that Arthur would've been able to contribute anything at that moment.  
Instead of spending another second in the same room with this asshole of a man, this piece of shit fucking up his life and Rebecca's, Arthur ran down the flight of stairs and dashed through the kitchen.

 

“Arthur?” His sister called as she turned from the sink she'd been doing the dishes in.

 

“Forgot to pick up my friend! He's been waiting out in the cold for an hour!” Arthur shouted over his shoulder, already sprinting down the hallway, feeling the bile and tears rise higher and higher.

He ran outside, not even closing the door behind him and didn't decrease his pace until he got in his own house, closing and locking the door behind him.

 

He dropped to the floor immediately and then, because everything was wrong and everything hurt, he let out a guttural scream before breaking down in tears.

* * *

 

 

 

This time it was different.

 

This time Eames did contact Arthur... A LOT. And Arthur succeeded wonderfully in ignoring his every phone-call, voice message and text message.

 

He never mentioned what he'd said; being that apparently he was in love with Arthur. His messages only varied from dry ' _call me_ 's and the occasional ' _Arthur please... contact me, please._ '

 

Arthur found it hard to believe Eames was in love with him and rather saw this as a trap. He was supposed to trust Eames, but how could you ever trust a man who puts you on third place after his wife and child?  
Well, the child was understandable. Arthur knew that even Rebecca would never be more important to Eames than his daughter was... But, if a man could cheat with you, on his wife, for various years... how could you trust him?

 

That aside, Arthur was tired of hurting his sister. Family should come first and Arthur knew he should've never allowed Eames that night to touch him like he had.  
He should not have betrayed her for years and years, smiling in her face while her husband who fucked Arthur on the side was sitting at the same fucking table.

 

Arthur was done. He promised himself it was over.  
He promised himself his crush was over, he no longer was in love with Eames and never would be again.

 

Oh and what pitiful lies those were.

* * *

 

 

He should have known.  
Arthur should have known that Eames wasn't a quitter and if he wanted to talk to Arthur and Arthur didn't talk to him for months, even though Eames tried to contact him various times a week... well, then he'd find other solutions to talk to Arthur.

 

It was around two in the morning when the doorbell woke Arthur from his sleep.  
He wanted to ignore it, whatever fuckhead had decided to visit him at this ungodly hour without a warning deserved to have the door closed in their face.

But the ringing continued and the impatience, the determination in whomever it was who was abusing his doorbell, made Arthur curse as he got out of bed.

 

He was groggy with sleep and his legs wobbled as he got up. Arthur was fucking tired lately. His job was sucking him dry, in the bad sense.

The visitor rang the bell again, for the tenth time.

 

“Fuckin' hell.” Arthur murmured, rubbing knuckles in the corners of his eyes before he patted through the hallway butt-naked, picking up his bathrobe which hung behind the bathroom door.

 

He pulled on the robe, tying it loosely around his waist, the lapels sagging to the sides by the fabric's weight and revealing most of Arthur's chest... He couldn't give a rat's ass. His dick was covered, that's as best as he'd manage when in a state of agitated drowsiness.

 

Bare-footed he walked off the stairs, scowling at the loud noise of the doorbell as he neared the front door in the hallway.

 

He was angry. Pissed off.  
Arthur unlocked the door and pulled it open with a violent swing, putting on his ' _the fuck's your problem?_ ' face.

 

When he saw Eames in front of him, he cursed under his breath, gaping for a second before he understood what was going on and went to shut the door in the man's face.

Of course Eames' reflexes were spot-on and he shoved his foot in between the door and its post.

 

Arthur groaned, thumping his head against the wood and cursing himself for having been so stupid. He didn't want to see him, didn't want to hear him or talk to him. There was no escape but he could stall and thus Arthur remained, slumped against the door with his head and right shoulder, not really pushing but just leaning against it as he insulted himself.

 

“We need to talk.” Eames murmured at the other side of the door. He didn't urge inside, though his shoe remained it's forsaken mission to hold open the door.

 

“I don't want to talk to you.” Arthur shared with a tired voice, staring at the polished wood against which he rested his forehead.

 

“But you _need_ to.” Eames dryly remarked and a silence filled the already awkward atmosphere between them.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

There was no way out. Arthur had been putting this off for nearly two months now and even Rebecca was starting to grow suspicious of him. He didn't think she'd ever guess what her husband and her brother had been doing in the past years, but he knew she was suspecting something was wrong with her little brother and if Rebecca would interfere, shit would hit the fan.

 

She was a bulldog, once determined teeth were sunken into a mission, she would not let go until it revealed its answers.

 

With a sigh Arthur stepped back, pulling the door open and watched Eames take a few steps inside. He didn't pull off his scarf or coat, just looked around in the hallway, and the fact he wasn't getting cozy, eased Arthur's mind a little.

 

Okay... in and out, right?

 

Without a word Arthur walked farther inside after having closed the door behind them. Eames followed him quietly.

 

“How long is this gonna take?” Arthur asked lightly as he turned a corner to walk into his kitchen, flipping on the light on the way.

 

“Depends.” Eames rumbled as he pulled back a chair to sit down.

Not a good sign... At least he was still dressed fully, so he wasn't getting comfortable in a way that promised he'd be staying for hours.

 

Arthur leaned against the counter, pleased to have a chair and table in between himself and the man.

 

“Can I smoke?” Eames asked and he actually looked up, waiting for an answer. Normally he'd been smoking already or would've pulled out cigarettes while asking the question and not bothering to wait for an answer, let alone obey it.

 

“Sure.” Arthur awkwardly muttered, grabbing a dirty cup from the sink and placing it on the table as an improv-ashtray.

Eames lit a cigarette. Not with a match this time, which was the case nine times out of ten. He used a zippo, colored a matte black.

He clicked it shut after having lit his cig and then pocketed the lighter in his coat. The air smelled slightly of the zippo's gas.

 

Arthur crossed his arms after having pulled the lapels of his robe a bit tighter to hide his chest, though his sternum was still visible.

 

“I want to apologize.” Eames started, shiftily roaming his eyes over Arthur's face before he looked back into the distance, smoking slowly.

Arthur held back a snort because of the lack of specificity. Eames had a lot of crap to apologize for.

 

“I want to apologize for having dragged you into this mess.”

 

“Bit late for that, Eames.” Arthur murmured.

 

“It wasn't supposed to get so complicated.” Eames frowned to himself, not even bothering to feel insulted over Arthur's sarcastic remark.

Another pause followed before the man looked up and caught Arthur's eyes with his'.

 

“You do me head in, you know that?” There wasn't any humor on his face nor in his voice and Arthur huffed, looking away and hoping the blush that crept up to the tips of his ears would go by unnoticed.

 

“What does that even mean.” Arthur muttered, just to say something, anything, to have Eames look away from him again rather than stare at him with his fucking predatory features.

 

“I didn't plan on feeling about you the way I do.” Eames continued, not catching the bait and get annoyed.

 

“I sure as hell didn't expect to fall for someone like I have for Rebecca, especially not in the same period of my life.” Eames continued, finally looking away and pressing out the butt of his cigarette in the cup.

 

“I love your sister, Arthur... I really do. I do not want to hurt her, I do not want to hurt our daughter... But god... I can't forget you. You keep shoving yourself back in my head whenever I think I'm over it... It's fucking hard, innit?”

 

Arthur looked back at Eames, watching the man rub a hand over his head, messing up his hair and creating some cowlicks he seemed to sprout throughout the day no matter if he'd just gotten out of bed or just had walked around the house.

 

“You're ruining me.” Eames groaned quietly, rubbing both hands over his face. Arthur mentally shouted at his heart to calm the fuck down as it pounded in his chest.

 

“If you love Rebecca so much. Why did you cheat on her with the other woman?”

 

“That was because of you.”

 

“Oh, so it's my fault now?” Arthur barked a laugh, narrowing his eyes as Eames looked up at him.

 

“No. It's not. It just happened after our 'break-up', so to say. It was just... I was angry at you and angry at myself. I wanted to prove to myself that what we had was nothing more than just fucking around... But it was. Getting together with that woman that night... fuck... it proved even more to me what it is I feel for you.”

 

Another pause followed and Arthur gnawed on his bottom lip as he watched Eames massage his own forehead with the ball of his hand. Most likely sprouting a headache.

 

“I can't let you go.” He whispered.

 

“And I can't let _her_ go, either.” Eames continued and he looked genuinely lost.

 

“Eames...” Arthur began, his heart wincing as he saw Eames looking up at him with big eyes. He looked like a fucking lost puppy... he'd never seen this vulnerable side on the man. He seemed to always be so in control, so put together... so fucking arrogant and cold.

 

“I don't want to do this to Rebecca, not anymore.” Arthur whispered.

 

“I know.” Eames groaned, dropping his head back in his hands.

 

“What the fuck am I going to do?” He asked himself and Arthur sure as hell had no answer for that.

Eames looked back up then, new determination on his face.

 

“What about you?” He asked and Arthur frowned.

 

“What about me what?”

 

“What is it you feel about me, or felt about me? We cannot solve this one-sidedly.”

 

“God, Eames...” Arthur groaned, this time it was his turn to stroke a hand over his face as he tilted back his head and stared at the ceiling for a moment after.

 

“I was infatuated with you.” He replied honestly.

If they wanted to get over one another and put all of this behind them, they needed to be honest, throw it out all in the open and close down the chapter.

 

“Was.” Eames murmured and Arthur did not deny nor admit to the past tense.

 

“Just tell me you do not want me. Tell me I need to piss off and leave you alone.” The Brit demanded and Arthur blinked away for a second.

 

“... I can't say that, Eames.”

 

“Then I can't leave you alone.” A silent stare-down continued until after half a minute Arthur bowed his head and that was the wrong thing to do.  
With Eames' natural dominance and Arthur's submissive body-language, he'd given the man a green light to infiltrate his mind.

 

“... Perhaps there is a way we can keep seeing each other without it being cheating.” Eames pondered.

 

“A friendship?” Arthur questioned and Eames hummed thoughtfully.

 

“But I know it will not survive... Whenever I see you, Arthur, I just want to make you come undone. I want to pick you apart, make you forget your own name and fuck you back in shape... Now, how can this _ever_ be solved with a mere friendship, hm?” Eames' voice was raw and his eyes had darkened a shade throughout his declaration.

Arthur blushed profoundly and after a glance, refused to meet the man's eyes.

 

“Depends on what you see as cheating and what you see as friendship.” The moment the words had left his mouth, Arthur knew it had been the wrong thing to say and it had been the exact thing to try with a subconscious wanting Eames back.

 

It was disgusting.

And to some degree it had lost genuineness. Though Arthur knew he was still very much in love with Eames, his conscience was finally starting to gain the upper hand after almost five years.  
It's been enough.  
Just one last shared evening with this man and then it would be enough, forever.

 

“I just wanna see you cum. Right here and now.” Eames' voice was hoarse, strained as if the words were dragged through mud right into Arthur's thoughts, interrupting them.

 

“Eames...” Arthur whispered. He went for a warning tone but it only came out pained.

 

“Just- I'm not going to touch you, you're not going to touch me. We'll do nothing with one another but please, Arthur... I've been hungering for you. I just want to watch. I miss your faces and your sounds.” His mouth thinned for a second, biting back words and obviously forcing himself to stay quiet.

 

“Just this once and then we'll move on... Just give me this, please.”

 

It was odd to hear Eames beg, whereas most of their time together had been based upon Arthur begging him. It sent a thrill through his nerves and he felt his cock swelling slowly.  
And as was always the case in Eames' presence or when even just _thinking_ about Eames, Rebecca drowned into the back of his mind.

 

And it was so fucking horrible... So fucking selfish.

 

And in the most disgusting way this was so abso-fucking-lutely sexy and arousing.

 

It hit him then that they hadn't talked in over five minutes. They'd just been looking at each other, Eames watching his every tick and Arthur looking through him as his mind walked away with him.

 

Arthur knew it was a lost cause.  
Knew he'd been in denial. Knew he'd never gotten over Eames and had fallen for him from day one. And Arthur knew that Eames was not someone he could let go, ever, not even if it would ruin his sister and niece.  
And then more so he knew that's exactly what he'd have to do.

 

His mind felt as if it would experience a major break-down any second.  
The contradiction, the fight with himself, the constant change of mind... it was maddening and he wondered how he'd manage to put up with it for so long.

Questions screamed and answers hid though Arthur _knew_ what they contained.

 

And still he couldn't wrap his head around it.  
And still he was selfish enough to chose a man not healthy for him nor his family.

 

The lump in his throat was heavy and his knees trembled as he walked towards Eames, rounding the table.  
Eames' eyes softened immediately, looking like he'd just received a god-sent present and as he reached out a hand to Arthur's hip, the latter interrupted him.

 

“Don't touch me, Eames.” His demand lacked any bite or aggression, it was merely a whisper and Eames did obey.

 

The man scooted back his chair once noticing that Arthur went to lean against the table in front of him.

They were merely a couple of feet apart but Arthur knew Eames would not touch him if Arthur told him not to. This wasn't one of their rape-plays.

 

Eames rested an ankle on his knee, leaning back in the chair and lit a cigarette. Arthur passed him the cup used as an ashtray.  
  
And then they stared at one another again and Arthur only needed to look at his lips dragging from the cigarette, only needed to look at his long thick fingers and the veins on his hand in order to arouse himself. Once Eames knew Arthur was ogling him for the sake of getting turned on, he went to unbutton his coat and discarded his scarf before leaning back comfortably and resuming to smoke.

 

The man's eyes narrowed slightly when Arthur placed a hand gingerly against his own throat, arching it and licking his lips nervously.

The pads of his fingers trailed a slow path over the curve of his Adam's apple down to the hollow between his collarbones.

 

“I never really knew much about you.” Eames said, his eyes following Arthur's hand which disappeared behind the lapel of his bathrobe.

 

“Besides fucking, that is.” The cigarette sizzled as he took a deep drag. Arthur watched the smoke travel around his full lips, up into and around his nose as Eames exhaled.

 

“I know exactly what you want and love between the sheets but lately I've been lying awake in bed, not able to sleep, and I just tried to remember what your favorite food is, your first pet's name, what you studied and what you're dreams were as a little boy, your favorite color and your alcohol of choice, who your first love was and who was your last, what makes you happy, what you like to do in your spare time, if you sleep clothed or naked, if you brush your teeth before the shower or at the same time or afterwards, if you prefer baths to showers, your favorite pair of socks, what your childhood was like, what your star-sign is...”

 

Arthur paused in his movements, staring at Eames who looked broken somehow, though Arthur couldn't pin-point how he could see this.

 

“And then I realized, last night, _finally_...” He huffed a laugh before continuing.

 

“I realized that the answers aren't a matter of remembering but the matter of the fact is that I've never asked... I've never bothered to get to know you outside of our games and fucking. I've been selfish and pining for something I did not know at the time but now I do know that I want to know everything about you.”

 

“Eames... this is fucked up.” Arthur whispered, feeling not only his heart warm but as well his dick swell.  
The attention Eames gave him, the interest he showed in him, the fact he was bearing himself so vulnerably to him... it was a huge fucking turn-on. Everything about Eames was. The good and the bad sides of this man drove Arthur nuts.

 

“I'm in love with you, Arthur... it's pretty obvious that that's fucked up. Love's fucked up, innit?”

 

Arthur's heart skipped a beat as he mentioned love so casually.

 

“Yeah...” Arthur sighed and his hand moved to pinch a nipple, wincing at the sharp jolt of pleasure that shot right down south.

 

“God... you filthy thing.” Eames growled, taking a last drag from his cigarette before disposing of it in the cup. Both his hands held the ridiculously small cup, his knuckles white as if he was squeezing it in order to keep his hands off Arthur who stood within arm's length.

 

“You're getting turned on by this, aren't you?” Eames murmured and Arthur knew that replying wasn't necessary.  
Eames talked to turn him on and Arthur thanked him for the arousal flooding his bloodstream.

 

“I could do or say anything and you'd get off on it.” Eames' voice was strained once again and Arthur could only nod as he tipped back his head, pinching and rubbing his left nipple, his free hand gripping the table behind him for leverage.

 

“Have you ever slept with someone else in the four years we've been fucking and breaking up?” Eames asked as Arthur noted he shifted a bit in his seat.

 

“No.”

 

A baffled silence followed but Arthur didn't care much about what Eames thought about this. Arthur had never been one for fooling around, too focused on school (back in the day) and work. He'd never considered fucking to be all that fun. Until Eames came along and well... after that he didn't want anyone else to ever touch him like Eames touched him because his body now was only stained in this man's fingerprints and bites, no one else's.

 

The canvas of his body had so far only been painted by Eames, who'd both left kind colorful streaks as well as some harsh black splatters.  
But a piece of art he maintained nonetheless.

 

“Have you ever been in love with someone else in those four years?”

 

“God no.” Arthur moaned, getting off on only the man's voice and his own fingers pinching and rubbing nipples.

 

“I'm a possessive man, Arthur.” Eames growled as if a warning for Arthur to never think about someone else as long as Eames was in his life... and he probably wouldn't.

 

“Yeah.” Arthur breathed, his hand sliding up his chest and instead going to stroke his throat as he arched it.

 

“I can't bear the thought of you being with someone else, giving yourself to some middle-class, unappreciative, vanilla bull-ass.”

 

Arthur snorted before wrapping his fingers around his throat and squeezing softly. His mouth automatically fell open and he heard Eames stutter on an inhale.

With his thumb now brushing slow, teasing stripes over his lips, half-lid eyes watching Eames' closely, his other hand removed itself from the table. He leaned the swell of his ass against the furniture in order to slide his free hand slowly down his stomach, fingers played over hard planes.

 

“God Arthur. This is going to kill me.” Eames whispered and Arthur reveled in the tiny groan he heard when his lips wrapped around the tip of his thumb. His other hand disappeared in his robe and he hissed when finger-tips brushed against the leaking head of his erection

He continued to play with himself. Arthur went as bold as he dared and it wasn't long before he was sucking and licking on two of his fingers and palming his cock beneath the robe.  
It lasted for five agonizingly delicious minutes until Eames leaned forward and went to undo his robe.

Technically he still wasn't touching him so Arthur let it slip.

 

Eames' exhale was heavy when he opened the robe, letting it hang loose from the young man's shoulders.

Arthur wrapped fingers around his length and started to lazily jerk himself off with slow, loose strokes.

 

Eames leaned back in his seat, somehow managing to keep his hands off Arthur even though the latter was a picture of wanton need, sucking greedily on fingers and masturbating almost ironically gentle.

Arthur could only hope that the contrast would give Eames' brain something to remember for years to come.

 

His fingers slipped from his lips with an obscene slurp that made Eames cringe in his seat, in a good way.  
Arthur stared at the man for a couple of seconds, allowing him to take in the picture before him. The American knew he was flustered, skin most likely flushed from chest to tips of ears. His dick was an angry red, head swollen and leaking desperately in his hand.  
And then he turned around.

 

“Oh god no...” Eames breathed when Arthur leaned on the table with an elbow, his back arched in a curve that made his ass stand out, legs spread.

He reached his wet fingers behind him and the silence was deafening when he rubbed his middle-finger over his hole.

 

“Oh fu- push it in, Arthur. Push it in.” His voice was raw and needy and quiet and Arthur loved how he could shatter the man so easily with only his body. It hadn't been like this in the past... not before they'd realized they'd had to part one day, not before they'd realized they should take everything now they could.

Arthur obeyed and slipped his finger in carefully to the first knuckle.

 

“If only you could see yourself... Arthur. You're so gorgeous.” Eames babbled. He'd babbled before in the heat of the moment. It always made Arthur proud to turn the confident, controlling man into a needy begging mess. But then the thrill of it was that he knew Eames could snap just like that. He could be whining one moment and the next he was on you like an animal.

 

He had a lot of patience though. On this topic.

 

“Yeah, that's it. You're gonna take it for me, aren't you.” The man murmured when Arthur slid his finger deeper inside until he could go no further. He fucked himself slowly, the finger was not at all enough but he bared with it for the sake of putting up a show.

 

When he pulled out, only the tip inside, he rubbed his index finger against the slightly stretched skin of his hole.

 

“I need more lubricant, Eames.” Arthur spoke over his shoulder and Eames looked as if he was about to explode. His pupils blow and lips slightly parted. Again some cowlicks had appeared in his hair, as if they sprung to life along with his emotions. (Arthur knew for a fact it was because Eames loved to toy with his hair when distracted, but he chose to go with the funnier assumption).

 

Eames scooted his chair closer and then leaned forwards, eyes flickering to Arthur's.  
Keeping his promise he did not touch him. Eames gripped the edges of the table, leaned over Arthur's ass and slowly let his own spit dribble down in the cleft between his cheeks.

 

The image was so filthy, so fucking dirty and when the hot saliva pooled around his hole and fingers, Arthur lost the strength in his elbow and planted his whole upper body on the table.

The angle was awkward, his arm strained, but he still managed to slide both fingers inside himself, moaning the whole way.

 

“Fuck me.” Eames huffed and Arthur could hear he was still close to him. Most likely mere inches away from his hand and ass.

 

Arthur moaned and groaned as he fucked himself with two fingers, reveling in the knowledge that the slick motion was because of the man's spit. It was a filthy and delicious fact.

 

“It's not enough.” He whined and honestly he meant the words. By now he was painfully hard and sweat started to pool in the small of his back and the nape of his neck and he just needed _more_. He craved for Eames' cock inside him, wanted the man to fuck him into oblivion but god... they'd made a deal.  
No touching.

 

Though Arthur knew this so-said deal would eventually be broken, that people were going to be touched, he wanted to succeed tonight. It was a small fight with Eames, taking vengeance for his bullshitting, showing him what he'd been missing all the time. Showing him what he'd never be choosing for.

 

Arthur pulled his fingers out again and then his whole body strained as he let his ring-finger join, screwing all three of them back into his sensitive hole.

 

“Fuck.” Arthur gasped and then fucked himself in earnest. Hard and fast and the sounds his wet fingers made were so filthy it could not be anything less than arousing. His hips moved back into his hand and he heard a belt being unbuckled.

 

Not knowing if Eames was undoing his pants in order to fuck him or to jerk himself off, was another turn on and Arthur panted against the table as he fingered himself almost brutally.  
He stood on his tippy-toes to have a better angle and by now he was sweating to a degree where his toes slipped on the tiles every now and then.

 

And it was so desperate.

 _So_ desperate.

 

Arthur heard Eames spit, most likely in his hand, and he somehow managed to lean a bit on the side of his free arm in order to move down his own hand and wrap it around his cock.

He heard Eames groan, wasn't sure whether it was because Arthur was touching himself or if Eames was touching himself, nonetheless the sound jolted in his balls.

 

“Bloody hell, Arthur. You're a fuckin' minx.” Eames whispered and Arthur heard the man's hand jerking himself off rapidly.  
He tried to match his rhythm as well as he could manage without seeing him.

 

“Don't come before I've come. I want to see you.” Eames' voice was more clearer now and Arthur let go of his erection because he knew the point-of-no-return was just around the corner.

 

Arthur's fingers paced down because he knew Eames was jacking off behind him and needed a show to get off and he figured slow, dirty slides, showing the man everything would do the trick better than the rapid in-out.

 

It wasn't long before the man started panting and Arthur leaned on an elbow to peek over his shoulder.  
Eames looked fucking gorgeous. He didn't even processed Arthur was looking at him, instead masturbating quickly, mouth agape, sweat on his temples, cowlicks everywhere, his blow pupils completely focused on Arthur's ass and fingers.

The man's lips were sinfully swollen, as if he'd been biting them, blood-red and moistened.

 

When he was close his eyes flickered up to Arthur's face.

 

“Hold your hole open.” He rasped, getting up from his seat and granting the boy the visual of Eames' large hand wrapped around his even larger, thicker, swollen dick.

Arthur slid his fingers out, lying back down on his chest and placing finger-tips on the edges of his hole, stretching it as good as possible.  
It hadn't been stretched an awful lot, but it had been fucked thoroughly and he knew it must be red around the edges with a small gaping black hole in the middle.

 

Eames stood behind him and Arthur wished and feared Eames would shove himself inside of him, but instead he just grabbed the table and cried out as he came. His hot semen shot on Arthur's ass, a few strands spurting inside his hole with perfect aim, as others streaked his crack to slowly drip down his hole and balls.

 

The man shuddered in the after-shocks, leaning heavily on the table as he slowly stroked himself, riding out his orgasm. His breaths were quick and heavy and occasionally a 'fuck' accompanied an exhale.

 

“Eames please.” Arthur whined, his voice dry and needy. Eames nodded, stepping back and sitting down on his chair.

 

“Let me see you, Arthur.” He murmured and Arthur stroked fingers through the sperm on his ass and hole, before turning around. He leaned against the table then, eyes locked on Eames' face before his semen-smeared hand wrapped around his hard cock and he started jerking himself off with swift motions and flips of his wrist.

 

Eames' eyes went from his cock to his face, not able to pick a part to watch.

But then the man looked at his face, taking in every inch of it and Arthur couldn't take the intensity, instead closing his eyes, panting Eames' name and coming all over his hand and stomach.

 

The orgasm was bright and painfully wonderful and his knees wobbled so much he needed to stand on his toes to have his ass lean on the table and not drop down.

 

It took him a long time to calm down his heartbeat and heaving lungs but when he did, he opened his eyes and saw Eames was still watching him.

 

“Welcome back.” He smiled and Arthur remembered those words from their first time, on the sofa, when he'd nearly choked him out.

 

“Jesus, that was...” Arthur began but honestly had no words for what just had happened.

 

“Yeah.” Eames agreed.

 

“I love how you zone out before orgasm and then just shut off afterwards... It's so fucking sexy to see you so lost.” Eames admitted before finally looking away and getting up.  
He walked around the table and after a minute came back with a warm, wet towel.

 

“You can't touch me.” Arthur murmured without much fight when he saw Eames reach out to him.

 

“Shush.” Eames smirked before gently cleaning Arthur's flacid and sensitive cock.

 

“Turn around.”

 

Arthur shivered as Eames cleaned his ass and balls and then even went as far as dipping a finger covered with the towel, slightly into his hole, swirling it around slowly before retreating.  
When Arthur turned back around, Eames tossed the towel into the sink behind them and then closed the young man's robe, tying it.

 

“As good as new.” He said quietly with a grim curve on his lips. He hesitated, then patted Arthur on the chest and got his scarf, buttoned up his coat and left Arthur alone.

* * *

 

 

It wasn't long after that when they started fucking again.

 

Neither of them ever mentioned the love confessions and they just re-roamed the toxic path paved with selfishness they had before.

 

Six years and ten months after Arthur had first met Eames (the day he still saw as the first step into a seven-year long abomination) they broke up again.

 

Arthur put him to an ultimatum. Him or his family and he knew before asking (had known from the start) the outcome would not be in the American's favor but then again it would be for his own family, his sister and niece.

 

Eames refused to pick a side. Refused and shouted at Arthur about why he couldn't just go with it.  
He told him he didn't want to lose him nor his family and he was angry at Arthur for having to fuck it up all the time, whereas Eames was almost always the one breaking up with him because he couldn't do it to Rebecca and Alexandra.

 

And then... well... a savior came along in the shape of a job-offer for Eames in Australia. Arthur knew his sister had had a passion for traveling and had said from her early teens she'd end up living with a family in a different country somewhere... so he _knew,_ even before they knew, that they'd be moving from the States.

 

That being said, hearing it literally spoken by Eames mouth still hit him like a ten-ton truck frontal in the face.

He was still ashamed about what happened afterwards.

 

Arthur had cried, like a fucking child. Cried, sobbed, confessed his every emotion, declared his fucking love for the man and Eames had hugged him, even though Arthur had been determined to punch him in the face.

 

Eames hugged him until his body caved and until his tears dried up and his voice broke.  
Eames, that night, hugged him for three hours straight on Arthur's sofa and spent the night.

 

Rebecca, Alexandra and Eames left three weeks later on a half-a-day plane-flight to Australia.

 

The goodbye was awkward.  
Rachael bawled her eyes out, no matter her difficulties with her daughter, Rebecca _was_ her daughter. Not to mention she had to part with her only grandchild.

  
Arthur had always been a bit disgusted about public display of emotion, especially 'crying at the airport' which for some reason made his skin crawl. (Most likely because of how fond his mother was of romantic drama's and they very often ended up with airports and tears and love confessions).

 

But he _wanted_ to cry and only Eames knew why his eyes were red and teary. As Arthur hugged Rebecca who honestly believed all his tears were for her, he looked at Eames who stood behind her.  
  
Eames looked shut-down. His jaw a firm line and emotion carefully swiped from his eyes. But Arthur didn't need to see to know what Eames felt.

 

When Rebecca and Rachael were distracted over crying about Alexandra's lack of a grandmother in Australia, Eames grabbed Arthur's shoulder, squeezing it.

He pulled him into his arms, wrapping them firmly around his shoulders, before a hand cradled the back of Arthur's head, thumb brushing behind his ear.

 

“This is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me.” Eames whispered and Arthur could only cling, fisting the fabric of Eames' shirt on his back. He took a deep sniff of his scent, the last time he'd ever smell him, the last time he'd feel his warmth and body and the last time he'd hear his beautiful voice whispering into his ear.

 

“But, this is most certainly the best thing that could happen for you. You're free now, Arthur... You're finally rid of me. I'm sorry I could not leave you alone and I'm sorry I've stolen over half a decade of your life and I'm sorry we've never talked about this and I'm sorry we haven't had a proper goodbye because I was too chicken to see you before we left because... Sweetheart... honestly... I don't think I could've done it, I could not and can not ever say goodbye to you, ever.”

Arthur bit his lip, feeling tears rolling over his cheeks, knowing he'd not see this man any time in the upcoming years and if he did... it would never be like the old days.

 

“I love you, Arthur.... and it breaks my heart that life has not introduced me to you before I met her... it hurts me that I've never been able to follow my heart over my head.” Arthur took a shuddering breath, his lips trembling to return those three words.

 

“Aw see. I knew you'd come around to like each other.” Rebecca interrupted them, rubbing Arthur's back.  
Arthur pulled away, wiping tears from his eyes with the balls of his hands.

 

“I'm crying for you, sis. I just needed a manly hug because I feel like a fuckin' girl right now.” Arthur lied smoothly and Eames smiled along with Rebecca who punched her brother in the shoulder.

 

“My sweet, little, emotionally-constipated Artie.” Rebecca cooed, hugging Arthur.  
  
Arthur didn't have it in him any longer to look at Eames and from that moment on to the point where Rebecca, Alexandra and Eames turned a corner to disappear from sight, Arthur did not look.  
  
He did not watch them go, Arthur did not grant _him_ a goodbye.

* * *

 

 

_They had met seven years ago._

 

_Arthur had been a fresh nineteen year old for fifteen days before quite literally bumping into Eames who -he soon after found out to be- was his sister's fiancé._

 

_..._

 

_Eames had ruined him, and though it sounded awful..._

_Arthur fucking loved him for it._

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
